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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572063">(don’t stop for nothin’) you’re what i bleed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky'>WhoTheBuckIsStucky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, BDSM, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, F/M, Female Reader, Oh um, Porn With Plot, Smut, Under-negotiated Kink, but it's also consensual, but still all consensual, but............... i mean come on, i mean it's all filler really, i wish i could say im sorry but im not :), i'll add kinks/warnings as we go, johnny i swear i love you for more than just your body SKJS, just mentioned throughout, light for now but that will change., oh uh, there's no like. truly problematic behavior., this is a DEEPLY self-indulgent fic, we just love wine in this house, well that and also for one of my best friends who happens to like all the same things i do</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:02:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26572063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoTheBuckIsStucky/pseuds/WhoTheBuckIsStucky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Want your mouth somewhere else,” you say, a pout threatening on your lips.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“So demanding,” he says, sitting back a little, movements languid. “That’s okay, I can train it out of you. Do you want that?”</i></p><p>  <i>You suck in another breath. “Yeah.” </i></p><p> </p><p>idk what else to say about this it's a horny johnny fic, joining the ranks of many other horny johnny fics. have fun!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Suh Youngho | Johnny/Female Reader, Suh Youngho | Johnny/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>151</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>my friend is an enabler you can yell at her (or encourage her) <a href="https://jongins-tiddies.tumblr.com">here</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> This is ridiculous</em>, you think to yourself, but you flick your eyes up anyway, tentative. He’s in the middle of a set, really focused on his workout, so luckily he doesn’t notice, and you can stare in relative peace.</p><p> </p><p>Do you have a crush on a random hot stranger that goes to the same gym as you? <em> Yes</em>. Did you kind of maybe reorganize your schedule to fit the times you noticed he seemed to always be there (most weekday afternoons, in case anybody was wondering)? <em> Yes</em>. Do you watch him out of the corner of your eyes whenever you can as he goes through his intense kickboxing routine in just a tank top and shorts? <em> Also yes</em>. Could you even manage to really blame yourself for any of this behavior? <em> Not really, no.</em></p><p> </p><p>Are you ever going to try to talk to him? <em> Um, absolutely not</em>.</p><p> </p><p>You’re plenty happy to watch him from afar—while it’s mildly nerve-wracking to know that he could also turn and see you struggling through a mile on the treadmill, it’s well worth the view you get. He’s tall, at least six feet, and he has the nicest arms you’ve ever seen. His skin is perfect—lightly tanned, absolutely no flaws, and it shines like honey in sunlight when he breaks a sweat. Sometimes when he’s there with his friends you catch a glimpse of his smile or hear his laughter floating over from the corner, and you find yourself momentarily paralyzed, smitten.</p><p> </p><p>Today he’s here alone, though, zoned in, tape around his knuckles and his wrists, dyed-blonde hair darkened from sweat, so you picked a stationary bike across the room where you can watch him in the mirror without getting caught. </p><p> </p><p>You pedal lightly, earphones in, tracing the lines of his pecs where his shirt clings, and berating yourself for imagining how his thighs would look framing your head. You know it’s super improper of you—it’s moments like these that you find yourself more paranoid than ever that someone can read your thoughts. It’s not so much that you feel immoral as it’s just that you feel bad for the man—he didn’t ask for any of this. </p><p> </p><p>You watch as he aims a hard kick at the punching bag, and your stomach flops like a fish out of water, almost like he kicked <em> you </em> instead. He flicks his head up really fast, clearly satisfied, and you’re too stunned to look away. He catches your gaze in the mirror, and before you snap your eyes back to the monitor on your bike, you see him fucking <em> wink </em>at you.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, so you’re fucked. </p><p> </p><p>That’s not real life. That’s something out of a comic book, or one of the otome games your boss keeps trying to convince you to submit some sketches for, even though you mostly work with realistic art styles, not manga or cartoons. But there’s no denying it—he winked at you, and now all you can do is keep your head down and wait for him to leave, and then never come back to this gym ever again. </p><p> </p><p>Or maybe you’re just overreacting, or imagining things. It’s possible, right? You’ve almost got yourself convinced when you notice he’s no longer near the punching bag because he’s <em> walking your way</em>, over toward the drinking fountain on the wall a few feet from you, even though there’s another one closer to the door. You bite the inside of your cheek and watch your heart rate climb on the monitor, stiffening and drawing a sharp breath in through your nose when he passes right in front of your bike, pausing for a fraction of a second. You don’t dare look up, and after a moment, he’s gone, out the doors, and you can breathe again.</p><p> </p><p>You’re still glued to your bike seat, though—it takes a good twenty minutes before what you can only describe as terror subsides. You collect your things, shaking your head at yourself. <em> So… guess I’m gonna have to wake up super early if I want to work out from now on. </em>You resign yourself to the idea of 6am workouts as you get into the shower.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>It’s been about a week since the Handsome Gym Stranger caught you eyeing him, and you’re happy to report that you haven’t seen him since. You’re in a crowded coffee shop, sketches laid out across the table, engrossed in your work. When you’d arrived it was mostly empty, but now it’s bustling and noisy. It’s because of this noise that you don’t notice someone’s trying to talk to you at first.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you mind if I sit here?” A stranger taps the corner seat of your table, the only area clear of your papers. “There’s nowhere else to sit. I won’t bother you, I’m just trying to get a little work done.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sure,” you say absently, shuffling a few stray papers closer to you to give him some extra room. It’s not until he sits that you look up and realize who it is. </p><p> </p><p>It’s the guy from the gym, and you quickly look back down at your work, feeling a blush creep up your neck and spread across your cheeks. <em>It’s not like </em>he’d <em>been staring at </em>you, you reason with yourself. <em>Just because you recognize him doesn’t mean he’s gonna recognize you. Right? Plus you look way different without makeup, in your workout clothes, than you do now.</em> <em>So it’s okay. Just focus on your project.</em></p><p> </p><p>There’s still a weird tension, though you’re not sure if you’re fabricating it all in your head or not. You can swear he’s looking at you, but every time you peek up at him through your eyelashes, his eyes are on his computer, or his coffee cup—black coffee, you notice, like an old man.</p><p> </p><p>After a little, you put your pencil down and pick up your phone, satisfied with your progress and ready for a break. You feel his eyes on you again, but this time when you look up he doesn’t look away, just gives you an almost conspiratorial smile.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” you ask, perhaps a little more hostile than you intended.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t seem fazed, though. “Haven’t seen you at the gym recently,” he notes, nonchalant, and your stomach drops. “Is this what’s keeping you?” He nods to the array of papers scattered across the table.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” you say. “I’ve just been going in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You can see his biceps clears as day through the thin fabric of his white button-up shirt, and you force your eyes back to his face. “So you’re avoiding me, then?” It isn’t an accusation; his tone is light and teasing.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” you repeat, now defensive. He raises his eyebrows and you give him a rather sour look. “Okay, maybe a little. Can you blame me, though? It was… kind of creepy of me, right?”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “I don’t know, a little? It’s not like you were stalking me or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“If that’s your standard, the bar is on the floor,” you point out, and he laughs.</p><p> </p><p>“What I’m trying to say is I’ve noticed you, too,” he says. “I always wanted to introduce myself to you, but I didn’t want to be, well…”</p><p> </p><p>“Creepy?” you supply wryly.</p><p> </p><p>“Forward,” he corrects with a smile. “I’m Johnny.” He offers his hand.</p><p> </p><p>You take it, giving him a skeptical look. “Uh, I’m Y/N. Johnny? Seems a bit… boyish.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods, a light smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Everyone’s always called me Johnny. It’s just kind of stuck.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” You don’t know why, but it’s funny to you, and a little sweet. You suppress a giggle. “So what do you do, Johnny?”</p><p> </p><p>“I work for a tech company,” he says. “I know, kinda boring. What about you?”</p><p> </p><p>You point at the sketches in front of you. “I’m an artist for a video game company.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which one?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s indie, local. We did that choose-your-own-adventure one that made the Forbes list last year?” His eyes light up with recognition. “I did some of the character design.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s very cool,” he says. “My little cousins really liked that game!”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s good to hear.” You smile, warmed. “So… what I’m hearing is I can stop waking up at 5 to go to the gym now?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yikes, that early? Yeah, please stop doing that to yourself,” he says. He glances at his watch and jumps. “Oh, shit. Sorry, duty calls.” He pulls a pen out of his pocket and scribbles something down on a napkin, then passes it to you. “Here, my number,” he says. “In case you’re ever bored. I’ll buy you dinner, or we can go out for drinks.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, um, thanks,” you say, mentally smacking yourself. <em> Thanks? What the fuck? Thanks for what? </em>“Maybe I will.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. See you around.” He stands, putting his jacket on and giving you that wink again as he adjusts his sleeves and his watch.</p><p> </p><p>“See you,” you echo faintly, watching him as he walks out the door.</p><p> </p><p>You stare at the napkin in your hand, the number scribbled there, then shrug a little to yourself and add his contact to your phone. You’re not sure if you’re gonna actually do it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to just throw it away. Who knows? Maybe it’ll go somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Even though you went back to your normal schedule, you’d only seen Johnny once at the gym since, and it was when you were on your way out, late for dinner with your friend. You waved shyly, acutely aware that you hadn’t texted him yet, and ran away before he could say anything.</p><p> </p><p>It’s Friday evening now, and even though you had been hoping to get a good head start on the work you’d brought home for the weekend, you’re not getting anywhere. You look over at your phone where it sits, charging on the counter, and sigh. After a moment, you push yourself away from your desk and pad across the room, picking it up and flipping it over in your hands.</p><p> </p><p><b>hey, it’s y/n</b> <b> <em>, </em> </b> you type. <b>sorry it took so long to message you. it’s been busy. are you free tonight?</b></p><p> </p><p>Before you can chicken out, you press send and wander over to the cabinet to get a glass for water while you wait for a response. Your phone chimes less than a minute later, and you laugh to yourself.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>hey! no worries, i’ve been a little busy too. yeah, i’m free. have you eaten yet? if not I know a couple good places downtown if that’s not too far from you.</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>i haven’t eaten, </b> you reply. <b>i live downtown, so that sounds good!</b></p><p> </p><p>
  <b>good. there’s a korean bbq place i know, is that ok?</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>Ooh, I love kkbq, </b>you type back. </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>here’s the address. should we say 7:30?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>You glance at the clock; it’s just a little past six now. <b>that’s perfect, </b> you respond. <b>see you then.</b></p><p> </p><p>You put on a simple black body-con dress, long enough to be decent, but short enough to be sexy, and debate the merits of your black tights before deciding to go without. It’s very early autumn, so it’s still warm. Besides, you’ll have a coat, and it’ll look cute with your black knee-high boots. Your bare skin will also accent the little slit on the thigh (are you casually hoping to get laid tonight? Maybe). You rush through some makeup, keeping an eye on the time, and scoot out the door just past seven, which means you don’t have to hurry on your way there.</p><p> </p><p>He’s waiting outside when you arrive, wearing a silk black button down that leaves very little to the imagination. He’s left the top few buttons undone, and tucked it into simple black pants, silver belt buckle glinting under the streetlights.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Y/N,” he greets you, offering you his arm. “Find it okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” you reply, accepting it and letting him lead you into the restaurant. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, don’t worry about it. I only just got here. I wasn’t waiting long.” He approaches the hostess. “Two, please.”</p><p> </p><p>“This way, Mr. Seo,” she replies, picking up two menus and leading you down an aisle.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you famous and I just don’t know it?” you ask quietly.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs. “No,” he says. “My family just comes here often. It’s our favorite spot for K-bbq.” </p><p> </p><p>Soon, you’re settled in your seats and you’ve ordered (you both agree that pork belly is superior), and Johnny’s pouring you a shot of soju, strawberry flavor.</p><p> </p><p>“So why tonight?” he asks as he sets the bottle down. “I’m not, like, mad or anything, just curious.”</p><p> </p><p>You shrug. “I couldn’t get any work done, and I didn’t want to just hang out alone at home doing nothing,” you say. “Plus, you seem fun. And I haven’t been out to eat in forever, so it’s a nice change.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m glad,” he says, completely earnest. “I was hoping you’d get in touch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” you ask, deciding to be coy. “Sorry it took me so long. Work’s just been so busy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that’s all right,” he says, waving your apology away. “I think you were worth the wait.” You don’t miss the way his eyes flick briefly over your outfit. “What were you working on, then? Same as before?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, it’s a new RP we’re working on. I’m doing character design, as usual. Can’t tell you much more than that, I’m afraid.” You smile sweetly. “Top secret.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see,” he says, smiling and nodding. “Well, I’ll keep an eye out for the release, then.” He tilts his head. “Enough about work. What do you do for fun?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fun?” You shrug. “I hang out with friends, I suppose. I read sometimes. Oh, I like to cook.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? Maybe we can cook together sometime,” he suggests offhand. “I’m not awesome at it, but my mom taught me a thing or two. I won’t get in your way, in any case.”</p><p> </p><p>You laugh. “That sounds like a good idea,” you say. “What about you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I fuck around with music sometimes,” he says. “Nothing serious—and I don’t have a Soundcloud, so don’t worry. Just for fun. A few of my friends like to sing and stuff, so our karaoke nights are usually pretty lit.” He rolls his head to the side, thinking. “What else? Well, obviously I do kickboxing—“ he shoots you a teasing, wicked smile “—and I like to play rec sports at the gym on the weekends.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which sports?” you ask.</p><p> </p><p>“Volleyball and basketball, mostly,” he replies, and you blink.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I played volleyball in high school and college!” You smile, happy to have some real common ground. “What position do you play? I was an outside.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really? You’re so tall I would’ve thought you were a middle,” he says. “I’m an opposite,” he continues. “I used to be a middle, but then everyone outgrew me.”</p><p> </p><p>Your server slides the plate of meat onto your table, along with all the side dishes, and lights your grill for you. You spend the next couple minutes in comfortable silence, working together to put all the meat on the grill, and then you dig into the side dishes.</p><p> </p><p>You stab one of the braised potatoes and Johnny goes for the cucumber kimchi. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the food got here,” he admits, grinning. “If you eat well, we might have to order more.”</p><p> </p><p>“I eat a lot, so maybe you’re right,” you tell him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though.”</p><p> </p><p>You both graze on the side dishes as you wait for the meat to cook, easily finishing your bottle of soju. Johnny orders another bottle, and checks the meat. When he’s satisfied it’s done, he gestures for your bowl, and you watch as he blows on each piece a little to help cool it before placing it in your bowl. It’s really cute of him, honestly, and your heart squeezes a little in your chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you,” you say when he hands it back. He smiles and your fingers brush, and you feel the soothing coolness of one of his pretty silver rings against your knuckle.</p><p> </p><p>You make small talk over the rest of dinner, sharing stories from work or from when you were kids, and you find yourself laughing a lot. He’s sweet, charming, and funny, and some small part of you kind of hates his guts for being so perfect. You relax a little around him as you realize he’s not a proper businessman, but just a fun guy in a fancy suit. All the better.</p><p> </p><p>He insists on paying when the bill comes, even though you protest to be polite.</p><p> </p><p>“We can split it,” you offer.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” he says, hurriedly slipping his card in the little folder and handing it back to their server before you can reach for your wallet. “Think of it like this: I’m doing my part to try and make up for the wage gap, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>You shake your head, laughing. “<em> And </em>he’s a feminist? Or do you just say that to win over every woman who looks like she can stand her ground?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I’m serious! My mom made sure I respect women, I swear.” </p><p> </p><p>“Hats off to her, then,” you say, smiling. “Parenting done right.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s raining,” Johnny notes when you step outside. He opens his umbrella, gently tugging your arm so you’re under its cover. “Did you walk?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” you admit sheepishly.</p><p> </p><p>“I can drive you home,” he offers. “Or… well. At risk of being a bit forward again, you could come back to mine, if you like. Seems like a miserable night to spend on your own.”</p><p> </p><p>You muddle it over. It’s Friday; you were going to sleep in anyway. He seems nice, and not like a serial killer. And the thought of going back to your apartment, dark and empty, save the pile of work on your desk makes you feel colder. So you nod. “I’d like that,” you say. </p><p> </p><p>He smiles, a sort of hungry glint in his eye that makes you both excited and scared at the same time. “I’m parked just down the street,” he says. “I’ll give you my address now, if that makes you feel better,” he adds. “You can send it to a friend if you’re worried.”</p><p> </p><p>“Everything you do either means you really are the feminist you say you are, or you’re going to kill me in approximately 45 minutes,” you say, but somehow it doesn’t seem likely. You text your best friend the address, telling her you’ll check in every now and again. She sends back <b>oooooookay but if you get murdered I’ll kill you. </b>You laugh and let Johnny lead you to his car.</p><p> </p><p>You don’t know a whole lot about cars, but you do know that this is an Audi, and an expensive one at that. It’s sleek and black; it almost looks mean. Johnny opens the passenger door for you and you duck your head and slide in. The seats are plush and comfortable, it’s super clean (cleaner than your own car, you admit to yourself reluctantly.) <em> Maybe he is a psychopath? Or maybe he just has a cleaning service. Seems like he could afford one, </em>you muse to yourself as Johnny gets settled in the driver’s seat, slotting the key into the ignition.</p><p> </p><p>The engine hums to life and you register faint r&amp;b playing over the speakers. Johnny pulls out of the spot and heads down the road. The city is gorgeous in the rain; the lights from all the buildings sparkle off the wet pavement, illuminating the night sky. You watch the skyscrapers pass, soothed by the happy bustle of downtown, even so late at night.</p><p> </p><p>“Beautiful, right?” Johnny says. “I love it here. I love the outdoors, and nature and all that granola shit too, but I know I’ll always want to live in a city like this. It’s so… lively, I don’t know. It’s nice to hear the sounds of other people living as I go about my own day, you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“You sound lonely,” you observe with a short laugh. “I’m not judging. I’m the same way. It’s kind of reassuring to look out my window in the morning and see other people just… milling around. It’s annoying when my neighbors get loud, but still, there’s something nice about it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly,” he says. “I’m lucky because I’m by the water, so I get to see all the ships come and go, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m jealous,” you admit. “I’m near a park, so I get to see all kinds of dogs, but the water must be so pretty.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you can be the judge of that yourself.” You realize you’re quite near the harbor, and Johnny pulls into a driveway next to a very tall, shining building. The parking garage is underground, and requires a key. <em> Tech company? Must be a big one, </em> you muse as Johnny winds down a couple of levels until he reaches a garage door with <em> SEO </em> written above it. The name kind of rings a bell, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Still, this doesn’t seem like your run-of-the-mill apartment building. It’s very fancy, and you start to wonder exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, it’s a bit cold down here,” he apologizes, ushering you into the elevator lobby, clicking a button on his keys to shut the garage door behind you. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m all right,” you say, too distracted by how <em> nice </em> the lobby looks to even know if you’re cold or not. </p><p> </p><p>The elevator dings and he follows you inside, pressing the same key to the little pad and then pressing the button that has a “P” when the light on the pad turns green. The elevator begins a smooth but speedy ascent, and you have to surmise that the <em> P </em> stands for <em> penthouse. </em> You try not to react—it’s impolite to comment on someone’s financial situation, after all, but <em> what the fuck! </em> He can’t be that much older than you, can he? <em> I guess I found his flaw, </em> you think, feeling a little insane. <em> He’s rich as shit. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yeah, I guess I should mention,” he says as you step off the elevator and into a very nice mudroom. “I work for my dad’s tech company—NeoTech.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your <em> father </em> is the CEO of NeoTech?” you burst out. “I knew your last name sounded familiar!”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, I usually try not to bring it up, at least not at first. I swear I’m not a spoiled trust fund kid. My parents were really strict with me. Comes with being an only child, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re very down to earth for a billionaire’s son,” you say, a little snide, as you unzip and slide off your shoes. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s unlocking the big double doors, a gorgeous dark wood, that you assume lead to his apartment. “What would you imagine a billionaire’s son be like, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know,” you mutter. “Not like you.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushes the doors open and gestures you inside. “Well, I may fit the bill a little more in a minute.”</p><p> </p><p>You try not to stare as you enter his living room. It’s beautiful, though—dark hardwood floors and accents along the walls. The entire wall ahead of you is made of windows, and you realize he has a panoramic view of the harbor below. The lights from ships blink in the darkness. Johnny hurries ahead of you and turns on the light to the hall so you can still see outside. In the extra light, you can make out his sitting area—a pretty dark green rug under a glass coffee table, surrounded by off-white couches. A fireplace is nestled into the wall to your right, and above it, a giant television. There’s stairs to your left, and a hallway directly next to them. Johnny’s standing in the threshold.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon,” he says. “I have a lot more to show you. And the drinks are this way, in any case.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t think real people lived like this, what the fuck?”</p><p> </p><p>“I like the aesthetic,” he says. “My parents’ looks a lot more like Crazy Rich Asians. Very… traditional and ornate. Stately, I think, is their preferred word.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can believe that.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He leads you down the hall to his kitchen—you pass a door that you assume is the dining room. It’s sleek and pretty, just like the rest of what you’ve seen. The countertops are black marble, and the cabinets are made of more dark wood. The flooring changes, though, to grey tile. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s easier to clean,” he explains. “Hardwood is so finicky with liquids.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” you say.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the island in the center of the room, so you slide into one of the minimalist bar stools as he rummages around in the wine cooler by the fridge. “I’m a fan of red wine myself, what about you?” </p><p> </p><p>“I like reds,” you agree. “Dry more than sweet, if you don’t mind.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, a woman after my own heart,” he says, producing an expensive-looking bottle, and then standing to retrieve two glasses from the cabinet. He opens the bottle with a satisfying pop and fills your glasses. “I know, it’s a little uncouth to fill them so high, but I don’t want to have to carry the bottle around. We can always get more if we want it, but I’m just trying to be efficient.”</p><p> </p><p>“How improper,” you say, accepting the glass and gingerly swirling the wine around, careful not to spill, before taking a sip. </p><p> </p><p>“I thought I might give you a tour, and then we could watch something, or listen to a little music, if you like?” He’s poised by your chair, wine bottle already carefully put away. </p><p> </p><p>“That sounds lovely,” you agree, and he offers you his arm. You giggle and take it, and he laughs, too.</p><p> </p><p>He takes you back down the hall and then up the stairs, turning on lights as you go. You’re faced with a large landing area, and three doors, one removed from the others by a hallway. “That’s the guest bedroom,” he explains, waving to the door on the left. “And mine is that one,” he adds in reference to the one on the right. “I want to show you my office, though. I think you’ll like the view.”</p><p> </p><p>He opens the door in the middle, and turns on his desk light. The walls are lined with bookshelves, filled with books and photographs and other important-looking memorabilia. A wall of windows greets you; his desk faces out of them. There’s a couple of large potted plants here and there and a comfortable looking armchair in one corner. There’s also a large record player right inside the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Take a look outside,” he offers, moving back towards the door. “I’ll pick out something to listen to.”</p><p> </p><p>“You collect records?” you asked, padding over to the window and looking down. You can see the slightest sliver of the harbor to the right, and to the left is the city, sprawling out for what looks like forward, fading into the darkness, lights shining. </p><p> </p><p>“Mm, I’ve always liked them,” he says. “The Weeknd okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“I love The Weeknd,” you agree absently, still taking in the city. “How do you get any work done up here? I don’t know how I’d be able to focus.”</p><p> </p><p>“If it’s too distracting, I just draw the blinds. Force myself to work faster so I can see out the window again,” he says with a laugh. You hear shuffling, and then the opening of “Alone Again” starts playing. “I can connect this output to the speakers out on the balcony if you’d like,” he offers. “My office is pretty, but there’s not much to see.”</p><p> </p><p>“You have a balcony?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re on the roof,” he says. “It would be a waste not to have a balcony. Oh, wait, let’s get you a blanket. It can get cold.” You follow him back out into the hall and he ducks into his room. You catch a glimpse of his bed, dark wood frame and black satin sheets, illuminated by the moonlight, and take a sip of your wine.</p><p> </p><p>He comes back a couple seconds later with a fluffy blanket, the really soft kind that makes your skin happy, and offers to take your wineglass so you can wrap it around your shoulders. Once you’re settled, you take your glass back and let him lead you down the hall.</p><p> </p><p>The door opens to a giant balcony that overlooks the city. That’s not what catches your eye, though—it’s the infinity pool, half covered by a weather shelter. There’s even a little hot tub off to the side. </p><p> </p><p>“Johnny,” you say. “You do realize you’re the kind of person I wouldn’t think twice about robbing if I didn’t personally know you?”</p><p> </p><p>He laughs. “I’m not sure how to take that,” he says, strolling over to the railing, beckoning you to join. “I donate, if that makes you feel better.”</p><p> </p><p>“A little,” you say, sidling up next to him and peeking down. The wind ruffles your hair, and you lean heavily against the glass guardrail to help ground you so you don’t freak out. “You can really see the whole city from up here, huh? The water, too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. It’s really pretty in the day, too.” He casts you a glance. “If you want—if you want, tomorrow morning we can go for a swim. Too cold now.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a swimsuit,” you point out, and he just kind of nods and says he can loan you something.</p><p> </p><p>You chat for a little while longer, finishing off your wine, setting the glasses down on one of the tables. Johnny offers you his hand, and you take it, and he leads you in a dorky little dance that has you laughing. </p><p> </p><p>Slowly though (inevitably, too, really, with the music selection), you get closer and closer, and the dancing gets riskier and riskier. He spins you so your back is to him, and places his hands delicately on your waist—light enough that you could pull away easily if you wanted, but firm enough to get a clear idea of his intentions. It’s getting chillier as it gets later, but you can barely feel it. You sway a little, his breath tickling your ear, and maybe it’s the wine that gives you the courage, but you turn back around in his arms and kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>He’s only surprised for a moment before he’s drawing you closer, grip on your waist more possessive now. Your hands find purchase in his hair and the way he kisses has you gasping. It’s bruising and it’s definitely messing up your makeup a little bit, but it’s dark and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the gorgeous man you’ve kind of been lusting after for the better part of two months has his lips on yours, and more importantly, seems to want it, seems to want you. It sends a thrill of anticipation sparking down your spine.</p><p> </p><p>You finally break apart so you can breathe, and you drop the hand that was in his hair to his shoulder, draping the other arm over the other shoulder so you can link your fingers behind his neck. He doesn’t let go of you either, just looks at you with a heavy gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“So in case it wasn’t clear, I didn’t invite you back here with just drinks and music in mind,” he says, and you laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“Good,” you say. “I hoped you hadn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t mean—like if you don’t want to, I won’t be hurt. I have a guest bedroom, after all,” he offers, but you shake your head.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” you say. “I want to.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Good </em>.” He leans in for another kiss, catching your bottom lip between his teeth and biting down enough for it to sting a little. “Better head in, then,” he says, releasing your waist so you can follow him back inside. He takes your hand and you grin, squeezing it. </p><p> </p><p>He pushes the doors open and goes to turn on the ceiling light. It’s a bluish color, and it looks like he can adjust the brightness. He puts it on the lowest setting, and you take in his room. </p><p> </p><p>The windows look over the harbor. There’s a door to your left that looks like it leads to a closet. The bed is in front of you, the head against the wall to your right. The bed frame is made of more dark wood—it matches the floor—and it’s attached to the wall. You can see there’s a couple of supporting beams down the center that connect it to the floor, but at first glance it looks like it’s floating. His sheets are black and have a slight shine to them—not quite satin, but something akin to it. Beyond the bed is another door, larger, probably one that leads to the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>That’s all the observing that you have time to do, because Johnny’s kissing you again, and he’s picked you up, arms wrapped around you and hands under your bare thighs. You let him lift you, even though he’s basically your size, jumping a little so you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your hair falls into your face for a moment, and then he’s depositing you on the bed, kind of purposely throwing you just to show off his strength, as if you don’t know from all the times you saw him at the gym.</p><p> </p><p>His lips are back on yours in an instant, hand sliding up your thigh, the one the slit in your dress exposes. You have one hand anchored on the back on his neck, the other braced on his chest. You can feel the hard muscle under his shirt, and you push away the fleeting desire to rip his shirt off. He squeezes your thigh, digging the pads of his fingers in, enough to bruise, and you gasp when he pulls away.</p><p> </p><p>“You wore this to get a rise out of me, didn’t you?” he asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just like he’s asking for confirmation.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” you ask, coy.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to rub it in,” he says, but there’s a glint of humor in his eye, even if he keeps his tone level and detached. He bunches up the hem of the dress in his fists. “Hips up.” You raise them so he can pull the dress up to your waist. “Ok, now sit a little and raise your arms for me.”</p><p> </p><p>You obey, the fabric whispering against your skin as he pulls it over your head and drops it off the edge of the bed. It’s not cold, but you shiver anyway, suddenly keenly aware of his gaze, the way his eyes sweep over your body, hungry.</p><p> </p><p>“Gorgeous, baby,” he says, one hand wandering down to your hip bone, playing with the waistband of your black thong. He leans over you to press a few kisses into your chest, nipping a little to test the waters, and then smiling against your skin and setting to work on a couple of hickeys when you let out a small moan. His hand moves from the waistband to just below your stomach, like he’s teasing, not quite touching where you want him.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, Johnny,” you huff.</p><p> </p><p>“This not what you want?” he gives you an almost pitying look, and you frown at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Want your mouth somewhere else,” you say, a pout threatening on your lips.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>So </em>demanding,” he says, sitting back a little, movements languid. “That’s okay, I can train it out of you. Do you want that?”</p><p> </p><p>You suck in another breath. “Yeah.” </p><p> </p><p>He grins. “Yeah? I can get a little rough.”</p><p> </p><p>“I like rough,” you reply, and his grin only grows.</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” he says. “Then the first thing we’ll work on is communication. For example, you say green if you’re good and red if you wanna stop. Okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” you agree, nodding.</p><p> </p><p>“For another example, when you say somewhere else, you have to tell me where you mean, babygirl.”</p><p> </p><p>You try to ignore how the name <em> babygirl </em> sends pulsing need straight down to your pussy. “You know where,” you say, rolling your eyes. </p><p> </p><p>He takes your jaw in a big, strong hand. “No eye-rolling,” he says, voice calm and dangerous. “That’s not very nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” you whisper, and he smiles and loosens his grip.</p><p> </p><p>“Want my mouth here?” he asks, back to his stupid game, tapping your stomach with two fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Here?” he taps the top of your thigh.</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Here?” Finally, he rests his hands below your stomach, and sweeps his thumb low, brushing down past your clit and landing on the growing wet spot on your panties before drawing it back up again, catching on your clit again and making you gasp.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“So wet already. Is that for me?” His tone is sweet.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” you repeat. “Johnny, I wanna see you.” You reach down and pinch the fabric of his shirtsleeve between your fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, baby.” He takes his hand away and reaches up to unbutton his shirt. He doesn’t look away from you, though, and it’s stupid how much it turns you on. He tugs gently on it to untuck it from his pants, and then peels it off his back, shaking his arms free of the sleeves. You trace over his chest, his abs, the familiar lines of his biceps. You want to touch, but you have a feeling he’ll smack you if you do. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but he did just say he’d eat you out, and you don’t want him to change his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, ready, baby?” You nod again, and he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your thong once more. “Hips up.” You comply, and he pulls them down, discarding them on the floor. “Good girl.” </p><p> </p><p><em> Good girl</em>. You let your jaw go a little slack, watching him. He scoots back and then stands at the end of the bed, taking one of your ankles in each of his hands and pulling you down to meet him, balanced on the end of the bed, soles of your feet brushing the cold floor. He pushes two fingers into your mouth and you suck instinctively. He gives you another smile, and dark pride blooms in your chest. </p><p> </p><p>After a minute, he pulls them out and spreads your legs, then settles between them on his knees. He pushes both his fingers in at once, and you gasp when he curls them up a little. He’s deeper than you can reach yourself, and you tremble, the feeling almost overwhelming.</p><p> </p><p>And then, his mouth closes over your clit, and you clap a hand over your mouth. It’s clear he knows exactly what he’s doing, circling his tongue around and around instead of up and down, still pumping his fingers in and out.</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny, <em> fuck</em>,” you gasp out, and he breaks away with a wet kiss over your clit.</p><p> </p><p>“Good, baby?” he asks, even though he already knows.</p><p> </p><p>You don’t mind telling him, though. “Yeah, <em> yes </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes what?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” you whisper, dropping your head back when he ducks back down with no warning.</p><p> </p><p>He adds a third finger, and just keeps going, and it’s good, but you want <em> more </em> . You can feel pleasure coiling tight, but you don’t want to come like this. You want him to actually fuck you. Maybe it’s some brand of internalized misogyny, or maybe you just really like getting your back blown out, but you want him to fuck you into the mattress, and you want it <em> now </em>.</p><p> </p><p>You shift, jostling him a little. “More, sir, please,” you whisper, plead.</p><p> </p><p>He brings the hand that isn’t knuckles-deep in you up to your hip and gives you a warning swat. “Behave,” he mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“Make me,” you challenge.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs, low and deep in his throat, and yanks his fingers out of your pussy, standing. “You wanna do this the hard way? Was I being too nice?” You don’t know how to respond to that, but luckily you don’t have to, because he shoves four fingers in your mouth and wraps the other hand around your throat. You gag and moan, and he just keeps that same, dangerous smile on his lips. “Tried to warn you,” he says. “Gave you a chance to be a good girl on your own. But you’ve got quite the attitude, don’t you? Or are you just pressing my buttons on purpose? Want to make me angry so I’ll make you cry? Want me to fuck you rough and dirty, so hard that when you come you go numb? Is that what you want, you little slut?”</p><p> </p><p>You nod as best you can around his fingers; the way they’re pressing at the back of your tongue has tears threatening behind your eyes. That’s how you want it, though—messy and vicious. You want him to leave marks all over your body; you want to feel it in the morning. You’re a little dizzy from the way his hand is squeezing around your throat, but you love it. You let your eyes roll back, gagging softly again, more for show than anything else. </p><p> </p><p>The hand around your throat moves to your hair, and he makes a fist close to your scalp, tipping your head back to open up your throat so he can shove his fingers deeper, in and out, in and out. You focus on breathing through your nose, and try not to give him the satisfaction of making you cry so soon. </p><p> </p><p>Still, there’s only so much your body can take before it gives in, and you feel hot tears force their way out of your eyes and roll down your face. Johnny coos, and lets your hair go, catching them with the pads of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it hurt?” he says softly.</p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hmm,” you confirm, muffled around his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“But you like it, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “You still wanna come, though, right? Yeah? Okay, then are you gonna sit still and be patient like a good girl this time?” He pulls his fingers out of your mouth so you can respond.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir.” Your voice is hoarse from the abuse your throat just took. “Sorry, sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s better.” He pushes away and resumes his earlier position between your thighs. “I’m gonna make you come like this, and then I’ll give you what you want.”</p><p> </p><p>He pushes his fingers back in, four this time, and it’s a bit of a stretch, but you like the way his fingers drag a little with each thrust. He braces his other hand against your stomach and reaches his thumb down the flick back and forth across your clit. Your legs start shaking immediately; you’re brought right back to the edge, and every stroke pulls you closer and closer.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna come,” you warn. “Please, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please what?” He gives you an innocent look. “You can come, baby.”</p><p> </p><p>You gasp in another breath, and let go, spasming around his fingers. He fucks you through it, though he slows a little so it doesn’t overwhelm you. Through the haze of your orgasm, you find yourself wondering how the <em> fuck </em>he’s so good at this—and moreover, why can’t every other man learn to be this good, too?</p><p> </p><p>He leans in to clean you up with his mouth, and it’s so dirty, the feeling of his tongue flat against your pussy. When he’s satisfied, he stands, and pulls your wrists to help you sit up. </p><p> </p><p>He moves to undo his belt, but stops. “I’m a little messy,” he says with the ghost of a smile. “Can you help?” </p><p> </p><p>You nod, scooting forward just a little and unbuckling his belt, then the button and zipper of his pants, taking the waistband between your fingers. You pause, and look up. “Underwear, too?” you ask, just in case.</p><p> </p><p>He laughs. “They need to come off sometime, don’t they? Or do you not want me to fuck you, baby?”</p><p> </p><p>You flush, tugging his pants and underwear down far enough for him to step out of them and lean back. “Didn’t want to take you by surprise,” you mutter, embarrassed. He just laughs again, which doesn’t help.</p><p> </p><p>“Your bra, too, if you don’t mind,” he adds, still laughing as he goes to one side of the bed to retrieve a few things from his nightstand.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir.” You don’t miss the way he inhales, and you grin to yourself as you unclasp your bra and throw it underhand off the bed in the direction of the rest of your clothes. “How do you want me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hands and knees, up on the bed,” he says. “Ass up. You have to pay for being a brat somehow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gonna spank me for being bad?” you ask with way too much attitude for someone in your position. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s voice hardens. “It’ll be worse if you don’t watch your tone, hmm?” You don’t say anything, just shiver a little, weighing in your mind the merits of pushing it. But you figure it’s probably best not to go completely off the deep end on day one, so you decide to keep your mouth shut, instead tipping forward and resting your forehead on top of your balled fists.</p><p> </p><p>The bed dips behind you, and you hear the crinkling of a condom wrapper, and then the <em> snick </em> of lube being opened. “Wider, baby,” Johnny says, tapping twice on the inside of your thigh. You shuffle, complying. “Good. I’m gonna spank you ’til I think you’ve learned your lesson. Can I get a color?”</p><p> </p><p>“Green,” you murmur, a bit muffled by your hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Very good.” That’s all the warning you get; he brings a hand down on your ass, the sharp smack ringing in your ears a little. You gasp a little, but the stinging feels good, searing and sweet. He gives you a couple more hits, still relatively painless, and then presses in, barely giving you time to adjust. </p><p> </p><p>He’s <em> big— </em>you knew this already, you have eyes—but there’s a difference between seeing and feeling. He prepped you really thoroughly, and now you know why. You barely register the next few hits in favor of focusing on the drag and pull of his cock. He shifts his hips a little, and you feel like all the air has been punched from your lungs. You can’t stop a tiny whimper from floating out of your lips.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? There?” he asks, and you nod fervently, moaning out something similar to <em> yes </em> . His responding laughter is dark, and <em> oh god, </em>you want him to destroy you. “Already got you speechless, baby?” he asks, that patronizing lilt lacing his voice.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” you protest, bordering on petulant, not willing to give in quite yet.</p><p> </p><p>“No?” he repeats. “Guess I’m not working hard enough. Is that it?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” you try to refute quickly, but it’s too late. He strikes you again, the full force of his strength behind this hit, and you clench your teeth against the pain. He doesn’t stop there, though, alternating sides but never softening the blows. You’re trembling now, breathing in sharply through your nose, mouth still clamped shut so you don’t scream.</p><p> </p><p>It seems like screaming is what he wants, though, because he pauses his punishment to dig his fingertips into your hips so hard you can <em> feel </em>the bruises forming beneath them, and fucks into you rough and fast. It catches you by surprise, and your knees slip a little as your whole body is jostled from the movement. Your jaw goes slack, and you hear yourself whine. Somewhere in you, there’s shame from it, but it’s buried deep, and you don’t have the energy to address it, anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“There we go,” you hear him murmur above you, almost to himself. His grip loosens, his pace slows, and you feel his hands in your hair, petting gently. His voice sounds so far away when he asks, “Can you give me a color, babygirl?” and you realize you’re crying.</p><p> </p><p>“Green, sir,” you sniff, turning your head to the side a little so he can hear you. “I’m green, please.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods like he understands. “Okay.” His voice is gentle. “Does my little slut wanna come?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yeah</em>,” you breathe out. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, touch yourself for me. I’ve got you,” he says, hands leaving your hair to anchor back at your hips so he can start fucking you again. He pulls you back up a little so you can reach between yourself and the bed and you find the strength to push yourself up a little on one arm. </p><p> </p><p>He sets a steady pace, not as punishing as before, but still quick and solid, and you’re a lot closer than you realized. How Johnny knew before you did is beyond you, but it makes you feel safe and cared for, even when he’s fucking you so hard you can taste it. Pleas are spilling out of your mouth, and you’re aware that it’s nonsense, mostly, but you’re too far gone to care. </p><p> </p><p>“Please,” you say, and it’s low and full of desire. “Please, daddy, faster,” and Johnny <em> moans </em> in response, loud and unabashed, and gives you exactly what you ask for. Your heart is pounding in your skull as the pressure builds, and then you’re shaking your way through your second orgasm.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny has the presence of mind to slow down, eventually stilling, pressed flush against your as you pulse around him, blinking your eyes open, vision still blurry from your tears.</p><p> </p><p>“Flip over for me baby?” he asks, adding, “I know, you’re tired, but I wanna see you,” when you groan a little in protest. You let him maneuver you onto your back. Your limbs feel heavy and weak, but he lifts you easily, touches firm but careful, still controlled and patient even though he’s so hard.</p><p> </p><p>“Daddy,” you breathe out, partially to be a little shit, when he finally has you situated where he wants you and pushes back in. </p><p> </p><p>He groans in the back of his throat. “You’re too much,” he says, and even though his lust, there’s a fond light in his eyes that makes you blush. You’re grateful for the dark.</p><p> </p><p>He picks up the pace again, and it doesn’t feel quite as good as before because he’s more focused now on his own pleasure than yours. He reaches up, squeezing a hand around one of your tits, almost absentminded. His forehead is shining with sweat, hair pushed back, and you almost giggle aloud at how similar he looks to when he’s finished a workout at the gym. You manage to keep this thought to yourself, though, which is a feat considering you’re a little punchy from exhaustion and the high of a good fuck.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m close, baby,” he warns, and you wrap a hand around one of his wrists, squeezing insistently.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, daddy, gimme your come,” you say, threatening to pout, breath hiccuping at the force of his thrusts. “Wanna see it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles, abs drawing tight as he pinches his eyes shut, jaw dropping open, panting out harshly, body frozen taut, still buried inside you. His expression is inexplicably hot, and you watch as he slowly deflates, catching his breath.</p><p> </p><p>He opens his eyes, giving you a sideways kind of smile, and pulls out. He presses a hand to your cheek, almost tender, and then hops off the bed to dispose of the condom before returning to your side.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he says softly, tucking some hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead. “You okay?”</p><p> </p><p>You grin at him. “Very okay.” A little bubble of laughter escapes you. “<em>You </em>have a daddy kink.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on, you can’t say that like you’re any <em> less </em> guilty,” he points out, and you just laugh harder. “Brat,” he adds, but his tone is far from accusatory. “Do you want to shower? You can go ahead. I want to change the sheets so we don’t sleep in our own sweat.”</p><p> </p><p>You make a face, sitting up. “I, uh, I don’t have PJs,” you say, casting a glance down at your discarded clothing.</p><p> </p><p>“Let me get you a t-shirt or something,” he offers, pushing himself up to his feet and crossing to his closet. He disappears inside for a moment, and then emerges with a giant white tee, and a folded black towel.</p><p> </p><p>You take them, scooping your underwear off the floor, and slip into the bathroom as Johnny works on stripping the bed. </p><p> </p><p>His bathroom is <em> nice as fuck</em>, with a big Jacuzzi tub, white porcelain on black marble counters, and a nice big window that overlooks the city. The shower is spacious, and has at least seven different shower heads. You cautiously turn on the one that looks the most like the standard type that you have at home, and peruse his collection of shower gels. You settle on one called <em> Tropical Waters </em>(no, really, what the fuck?) and are pleased to find it smells fresh and clean, almost like a light cologne. </p><p> </p><p>Once you’re satisfied with your cleanliness, you dry off and get dressed, taking a quick peek at yourself in the mirror. Bruises are already blooming across your skin, and you can feel an ache on your ass and between your legs that you know won’t be going away anytime soon. You pad back out into the bedroom and find that he’s changed the sheets to a softer-looking set, though they’re still all black. You also notice he’s picked your clothes up and folded them neatly, set on top of the bookshelf by the window.</p><p> </p><p>You grin and flop down into the inviting softness of the mattress. Your exhaustion hits you in a wave, and you yawn. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny steps back into the bedroom from his closet, shutting the door behind him with a light click. “Go ahead and sleep,” he says easily when he sees you, a gentle smile on his lips. “I’ll join in just a few. If you’re asleep by the time I get out of the shower,” he says, crossing to you and bending down to give you a kiss, “then goodnight, and I’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>You let your heavy eyelids shut as he pulls the blankets up around you, relaxing back into the pillows. “Night, Johnny,” you murmur, and you think you hear him laugh, warm and sweet like honey.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You don’t remember Johnny drawing the blinds closed the night before, but he must have, because when you wake up, the room is completely dark. You’ll have to ask what brand of blackout curtains he has, because if someone told you it was still nighttime, you’d believe them. </p><p> </p><p>Or, you <em> would</em>, if you didn’t smell the faintest hint of coffee.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s side of the bed is empty, but still warm, so he can’t have been up for long. Groaning, you sit up and mentally assess your body. You’re sore all over, the sting on your ass especially prominent, but you relish in the ache. It’s been a while since you’ve had anything like that, so you can’t complain. </p><p> </p><p>You slip out of bed and pad over to the windows, squinting against the dark so you don’t trip and die. You find the control pad on the wall and tap it to turn it on, and then press the button to raise the blinds. The machinery whirs to life, a low hum breaking the silence of the room, and immediately, bright sunlight spills across the floor, blinding you temporarily. You find the blanket Johnny had lent you last night, and wrap it around your shoulders before making your careful way downstairs.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny is in the kitchen, cooking, when you enter. He turns, seeing you out of the corner of his eye, and gives you a bright smile. He’s wearing a cute t-shirt and pajama shorts, and a dumb little blue apron.</p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” he says. “Would you like some coffee? I washed out the French press.” He nods at it, sitting on the counter. “Coffee is in the cupboard, and cream is in the fridge.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, thank you,” you say, going to make yourself some. “What are you cooking? It smells nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Pancakes,” he says. “I hope that’s okay. You don’t have any allergies, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>You laugh. “No, I don’t. Pancakes sound great.”</p><p> </p><p>You slip into a seat, coffee percolating happily in the press, and watch him cook. You can see the lean muscles of his back even through his baby-pink t-shirt, and you watch the movement as he slides some finished pancakes onto a plate, stacking them high.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you busy today?” he asks lightly as he pours more batter into the pan. </p><p> </p><p>“Not terribly,” you say, pressing the coffee grounds down. “I mean, I should probably at least try to get some work done at some point, but there’s no rush. If you need me out of your hair, though, that’s fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He flashes you a grin over his shoulder before turning back to his cooking. “No, please stay,” he says. “I don’t have anything that really needs doing. And I’d love the company.”</p><p> </p><p>“Works for me,” you say, smiling back. </p><p> </p><p>You chat a little as he finishes cooking, and fall into comfortable silence once he brings the food to the table and you start eating. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you take the first bite—the K-bbq from last night seems so far away. </p><p> </p><p>“These are <em> so </em> good,” you tell him when you get your wits about you again. “You definitely downplayed your cooking skills.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, thank you,” he says, grinning. “Family recipe. Big secret.” You laugh at him as he wiggles his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>You insist on helping him wash up after you’re done eating, clearing the counter and putting things away. When you’re done, he beckons you over, sitting down on one of the stools, and patting the one next to him, where your blanket is still draped where you left it. You obey, a little confused.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, um,” he begins. “So we should probably talk about last night.” You give him a nervous look, and he waves it off quickly. “No, no, I just—um. We did a lot of things that I didn’t really—ask if they were okay before I did them. I thought about it, but I didn’t want to ruin the mood and—well. It was a little irresponsible of me, so I apologize. I just wanted to make sure that I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”</p><p> </p><p>“Johnny,” you say, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “If I didn’t like it, I would’ve told you so. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t okay with any of it.”</p><p> </p><p>“I figured, I just wanted to check,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “I mean I did—I did call you a slut, which is a word my mother would beat my ass for saying if she knew. And she’s probably right.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re such an interesting person,” you comment, amused, and he blinks at you, at a loss. “Okay, so for the record—yes, I did like that, so stop worrying. But it’s just so funny to me, that you can be so—well, like <em> that </em> in the bedroom, but still manage to be so like <em> this </em> otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>“I try my best to be responsible,” he says, laughing a little. “I know I can get intense.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” you say, resting your elbow on the counter and your cheek on your palm, “I like intense.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?” He looks at you, mischief now lurking behind his eyes. “I think we should talk about it. I want to know what you’re down for. Because—there’re a lot of things I want to try with you.”</p><p> </p><p>You grin. “Like what?”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, so obviously you like getting smacked around and choked,” he starts, ticking it off on his fingers. “You like it when I call you a slut, but you <em> also </em> like it when I call you ‘babygirl’, which is fun.” You just smile. “And <em> you </em> like calling <em> me </em>daddy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, yes,” you say, your smile growing. You lean forward a little, scooting your stool closer to his. “But we already knew all that.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives you a warning glance. “I can be very strict,” he prefaces. “I like to get really rough. It’s a system; it’s almost like a game. We make rules, and then if you don’t follow them, there’s consequences.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? What do you have in mind?”</p><p> </p><p>He leans in and gives you a quick kiss. “Well, spanking for attitude. Choking if you still don’t fall in line. Orgasm delay; I’ll tie you up if you touch yourself without my permission. Handcuff you if you touch <em> me </em>without permission.”</p><p> </p><p>“What, like this?” You sneak your hands onto his thighs, gripping lightly, reveling in the feeling of his strong quads beneath your palms.</p><p> </p><p>He’s lifting you up in an instant, hands on your waist. You gasp a little as your ass thuds against the counter. Once you’re settled, he takes your wrists and pins them behind your back. “Yeah, like that,” he hisses. You hum, struggling against his hold just to test it. You’re strong, but he’s stronger.</p><p> </p><p>“Hm,” you say, nonchalant. “Guess you’ll have to punish me, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny gives you an almost exasperated look, and then sighs and lets you go, moving to shuck off his shirt. Curious, you don’t move, choosing to watch him instead. You’re surprised when he twists up the shirt and holds it out. “Okay,” he says. “Hands.” You smile a little and offer him your wrists. Luckily, there’s a lot of t-shirt, so it’s easy for him to double-knot it with plenty to spare. He tugs experimentally, then asks, “Does it feel okay?”</p><p> </p><p>You nod, smile growing, leaning forward into his space. “Green,” you murmur.</p><p> </p><p>“Good.” He gives you the kiss you’re looking for, but deepens it, coaxing you to lean back. You don’t have your hands to support you, but he catches you, big palm braced against your spine. You kiss back, hungry, keeping your bound hands in your lap even though all you want to do is reach out and touch. You’re still hurting from last night, and you have a feeling Johnny will do fine at roughing you up on his own without any antagonizing.</p><p> </p><p>You’re right. A few moments later, he’s lowering you onto your back, and then he stands, pulling your hips forward so he can pull your panties down. His tongue presses to your clit, swiping back and forth and then circling around it before breaking away with a kiss. You reach for him weakly, hands flexing against the t-shirt, an almost involuntary response. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny doesn’t miss it. He slaps your hands, and then points. “Above your head. Keep them there, or you don’t get to come.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” you say, shivering at his tone. You do as you’re told; your arms hang off the other side of the counter just a bit, but you don’t mind. Johnny, much to your relief, goes back to eating you out, pushing a spit-slick finger into your pussy. You sigh, and focus on the monumental task of keeping your hips still.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny adds a second finger, then a third, and then a fourth, barely coming up for breath, his tongue flicking over your clit, sending waves of arousal across your body. He curls his fingers up slightly, and you moan out loud, shaking when he does it again, and again, and again.</p><p> </p><p>He finally gives your clit a break, standing and running his free hand down your side. Goosebumps follow his touch even though you’re still wearing your big t-shirt. He scrunches up the material and pushes it high to expose your chest. His hand comes up to your tits, and he rolls one of your nipples under his thumb, smiling when you gasp. “Feel good, babygirl?” he asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, daddy,” you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. “Would feel better if you’d fuck me.”</p><p> </p><p>He releases your chest in favor of taking your jaw in his hand, squeezing against the bone just a little. “Is that how you talk to me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Only if you let me,” you say. He tightens his grip, jostling you a little. “I mean,” you amend, “no.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what I thought,” he says, leaning in closer. “My little slut doesn’t <em> ever </em> talk like that to me, because she knows what happens if she does, isn’t that right? So that’s ‘no,’ what?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, <em> sir</em>,” you correct, watching him wide-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>“Good girl,” he says, releasing your jaw and standing back up. He pulls his fingers out of your pussy, licking them clean absently while he pulls his shorts down with the other hand. You find that you’re trembling, the ache in your pussy a pleasant reminder of last night, though it’s eclipsed by an overwhelming feeling of need when you realize it’s going to happen again.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny fishes a small packet of lube and a condom out of the pocket of his shorts before casting them aside. You give him a scandalized look.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you planning this?” you ask. Somehow, you can’t quite make your tone accusatory. </p><p> </p><p>He just grins lazily. “I wouldn’t say planning,” he replies as he tears the condom open and rolls it on. “More just potentially anticipating. Hands, please. I’m going to redo them behind your back. I like to be prepared,” he continues. “You never know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Indeed.” You offer up your wrists and he makes quick work of the knot, tugging you free and then helping you to your feet. He spins you around, fastening the twisted t-shirt back around your wrists where he has them pinned behind you. <em> He’s fucking ridiculous</em>, you think, staring down at the marble of the counter. The cartoon Robin Hood “spare coochie” meme pops into your head, and you stifle a laugh, feeling giddy. <em> Spare marriage, sir? </em> You make a mental note to send it to your best friend later—she’ll definitely clown you for it, but it’s kind of how you feel.</p><p> </p><p>You feel Johnny’s hand on your waist, coaxing you to bend over, and the head of his cock against the entrance to your pussy. “Ready, baby?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” you reply, though it trails to a sigh when he pushes in. </p><p> </p><p>It’s a little mind-numbing, though you’re of the opinion that good sex always should be. You rest your cheek on the cool marble, letting your eyes flutter shut. Your hips bump against the edge of the counter, but you can barely feel the pain, focused more on Johnny’s hands and Johnny’s cock, the way he fucks you open like he’s trying to take you apart. </p><p> </p><p>“<em> God </em>, you feel good,” he forces out, and you whine softly at the praise. “My little slut takes me so well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Daddy,” you reply, a little slurred from your lightheadedness. You wonder vaguely if he’d be willing to fuck you elsewhere in his penthouse—maybe on the sofa, or the dining table, so that every time he has guests over, he’s forced to confront the memory of you, burning behind his eyes, your voice ringing in his ears. You have a feeling he wouldn’t be opposed. You have a feeling he’d find the idea of it just as hot as you do. </p><p> </p><p>You don’t bring it up now, though; you wouldn’t, even if you could—which is beside the point anyway, because you’re too busy moaning at the way he feels inside you, cock dragging against the spot that makes your legs weak and your heart pound. Another thing you’re finding you <em> love </em> about Johnny is that he’s vocal—he groans softly with each thrust, whispering senseless praise every few strokes. It makes you sure he knows you’re here, and that it’s <em> you </em> that’s making him feel this way, that he’s not imagining someone else, or, probably worse, thinking of no one at all, not <em> even </em> you. You’re not against being objectified, but there’s a difference between feeling used and feeling useless. Johnny nails the former perfectly, and it’s enough to make you feel like you could sink all the way down the many, many stories beneath you, heavy with desire.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m close, daddy,” you find yourself whimpering, and you don’t even really know how you got there. It’s the everything about it, you suppose—the way he holds your wrists behind you, securing you in place, the way he’s fucking you hard enough to leave bruises, the way he so clearly wants <em> you</em>, the way this is all happening in the middle of his insanely expensive and uncommonly gorgeous kitchen. “Touch me, please.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny does, letting go of your waist to snake his hand around front and massage over your clit with his index and middle fingers. “I’m close, too,” he tells you, breath hot on your back. “I dreamed about you last night, baby. Wanted you even in my sleep. What am I supposed to do with that, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“I think you—ah, <em> fuck</em>—I think you handled it just fine,” you reply through sharp inhales. You feel choked on your moans, even though there’s nothing blocking your airflow. In the back of your head, you wish there was, but it’s a bit too late for that now. “Lucky for you, I’m always on board.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, good,” Johnny replies, voice low and strained. “We can make this a habit, if you want.”</p><p> </p><p>You get an image of you, coming over to his place every week or so, only for him to fuck you into his mattress that night and then do it again in the morning. You shake, panting as you reply. “I’d like that,” you say, and he hums.</p><p> </p><p>Your orgasm is fast approaching—your limbs feel like live wires, and the pressure in your pussy is building. You clench around Johnny’s cock without meaning to, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it. He settles for grinding against you, pressed so deep inside you wonder if you’ll be feeling it for the next month. His fingers are still circling your clit, fast and sweet, sparks of pleasure bursting across your skin with each movement.</p><p> </p><p>You come with a cry, breath fogging the counter below your mouth. You hear Johnny moaning behind you as he fucks you shallowly through your orgasm, hips stuttering as he comes as well, hand never leaving your clit until you’re so overstimulated you have to push him away. </p><p> </p><p>You both catch your breath for a second after he pulls out, and then you stand up gingerly, stretching your back as best you can. Johnny’s fingers find the t-shirt on your wrists, a little clumsy now in his post-orgasm haze. But nevertheless, you’re soon released, and you turn around so you can kiss him.</p><p> </p><p>He smiles into the kiss, and then you’re both laughing, barefoot and (mostly) naked in his kitchen at eleven o’clock in the morning. It’s not the wildest thing you’ve ever done, even as a real adult, but there’s definitely something to be said for fucking twice in the span of less than twelve hours. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re so much fun,” he says as his laughter subsides, grinning at you. “Finally, someone that matches my energy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think that’s just a nice way of saying, ‘why do you have the sex drive of a fifteen year old boy?’ but I’ll take it,” you reply, scooping your underwear up from the floor. “Good thing we cleaned up beforehand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I think… we may have broken something otherwise,” he agrees. “Okay.” He rolls the condom off and ties it before chucking it in the trash. “I have a few things to get done, but I can offer you a robe and a pair of shorts if you want them, and you can hang out by the pool while I finish up. Feel free to take a glass or two of wine, if you like. Or a <em> bottle </em> or two, I don’t mind. I’ll join you in an hour or so.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t need the shorts,” you say, going over to the wine cooler and plucking up the least-expensive looking red you see. “Can I take this?” He nods, and you cradle it to your chest, following him out of the kitchen and back up the stairs. “If it’s alright with you. I’ll just skinny-dip. The robe would be nice, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re lucky we’re the tallest building in the area,” Johnny says. “I doubt anyone will see you, in any case.”</p><p> </p><p>You shrug. “It’s not like they’d be able to make out my face anyway. I’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He leads you into his bedroom, and disappears into his closet. You discard the t-shirt on his bed, and place your folded underwear on top of the stack of the rest of your clothes on the bookshelf. </p><p> </p><p>“Here.” Johnny’s extending a fluffy black robe to you. “It’s a little cold out there, so I thought I’d go for function over style.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” you say, giggling, and let him help you into it. You fasten the sash around your waist, following him out to the balcony.</p><p> </p><p>“You can rinse off there,” he says, pointing at a shower stall in the back corner by the hot tub that you didn’t see the night before. “Hot tub controls are on the wall. There’s some wine glasses and a bottle opener in this cabinet here.” He opens one of the doors, and produces a silver wine opener. “I’ll be in my office, okay?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” You smile at him, accepting the wine opener. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No need.” He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, and then heads back inside. </p><p> </p><p>You head over to the lounge chairs that are on the side of the pool protected by the weather shelter, next to the outer wall. You put the bottle of wine on the ground, taking off your robe and draping it over a chair, and then take the bottle and the bottle opener to the hot tub. You put them on the side, and start the heat and jets in the tub, then hop into the shower really quick to rinse off the layer of sweat before making your swift way to the hot tub, shivering against the slight wind.</p><p> </p><p>You sigh in appreciation as you sink under the warm water, reaching up to open your wine. You didn’t bother with a glass—you know you’re probably going to drink the whole thing, anyway. You sit like that, water just barely up to your chest, sipping the wine and surveying the city with half-lidded eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Really, you don’t know how you got so lucky. <em> Maybe I should half-stalk more hot guys for fun, </em> you think to yourself, smiling. <em> You never know. The next one could be the son of an oil tycoon, or a prince. If you can’t eat the rich, then… at least fuck them, right? And steal their wine. </em></p><p> </p><p>By the time Johnny comes out onto the balcony, you’re about three-quarters of the way through the bottle of wine. Though the pancakes from this morning did something to buffer the effects of the alcohol at first, you definitely have a solid buzz going, and you giggle through your greeting smile when Johnny comes into view.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you want some?” you ask, offering up the bottle. “Before I finish it?”</p><p> </p><p>He grins, shaking his head. “No, I think I’ll need to drive you home, so I’m fine. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmkay.” You tilt your head back, taking him in. He’s changed into a pair of swim shorts and nothing else, and though it’s not very sunny, he has sunglasses perched on the top of his head, blonde hair pushed back and falling over the frames. “Well, at least join me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t even have to ask.” He slips into the water beside you, moving close to kiss your cheekbone, the corner of your lips, your jaw.</p><p> </p><p>“Work go okay?” you ask.</p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hmm,” he says, resting his chin on your shoulder. His hair tickles your ear, and you laugh. “I’m all yours for the rest of the day.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sounds perfect,” you reply, bringing your opposite hand around to cup his cheek. “Have anything in mind?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Johnny says, kissing your palm and peeling away to lean back against the tub. “I was thinking lunch would be in order sometime soon. Maybe we could nap, if you want. And then I’d drive you home before dinner. I don’t want to keep you too long; I know you have shit to do.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s unfortunate, but he’s right. As much as you want to stay longer, you know you have to sober up and get home to finish at least part of your project. Besides, you don’t want to overstay your welcome. “Yeah,” you say. “I do have shit to do.”</p><p> </p><p>“Make no mistake,” he adds quickly. “I wouldn’t mind if you stayed. I just don’t want to keep you from your work.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, thank you.” You take another swig of wine, rolling the liquid around in your mouth. “I appreciate it.”</p><p> </p><p>“So,” he continues. “We soak here for a little while longer, and then we eat and take a siesta, how’s that sound?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a dork,” you inform him, but you nod. “Yeah, that sounds great.”</p><p> </p><p>You sit together for a few minutes as you finish your bottle of wine, chatting and laughing.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” you say when your wine bottle is empty. “Do you let all the pretty girls use your hot tub and drink your alcohol?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs. “No,” he says, giving you his blinding smile. “Only the ones that surveil me for months at the gym.”</p><p> </p><p>You swat him, but play along. “Ah, so I’m the first?” you ask. “Surely no one else is as crazy.”</p><p> </p><p>“You never know,” he replies, still grinning. “You’d be surprised.”</p><p> </p><p>“You have another stalker?” you ask, feigning shock and offense.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not a stalker,” he points out. “And no. You’re just not the first person to approach me at the gym.”</p><p> </p><p>“I did no approaching. That was like, the main problem,” you say, and he laughs again.</p><p> </p><p>“This is all to say, yes, I have had other girls over before, but not recently, and they usually left in the morning.” He spreads his hands. “So consider yourself special.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s considered.” He snorts and shoves you lightly, and you shove him back. He grabs your arm to stop you from doing it again, and somehow you end up nose to nose, wrestling in the water. You jut your chin forward so you can kiss him, but even kissing, you’re still grappling with each other. You break apart to giggle. Johnny’s sunglasses are askew on his head.</p><p> </p><p>“All right,” he says once your mini fight has died down. He pushes himself out of the tub, getting to his feet. You watch, unabashed, as beads of water trickle down his perfect torso. “Let’s go see about some lunch.”</p><p> </p><p>He offers you a hand, scooping up the empty wine bottle with the other, and you stand, now oddly self-conscious. It’s certainly not like he <em> hasn’t </em> seen you naked before—and quite recently, too—but still, you duck your head and hope Johnny isn’t looking too close.</p><p> </p><p>The problem is, you’re a little drunk, and focusing super hard on how you look means you’re <em> not </em> focused on walking. You manage to trip over your own feet, and if Johnny wasn’t there to catch you, you’d probably have gone sprawling out across the concrete. Though the danger of you falling has passed, neither of you loosen your grip on the other’s arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” you say, hushed.</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t blame you,” Johnny replies. “You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>You shrug one shoulder, giving him a coy look. “Maybe more than a little.”</p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head and guides you backwards into a lounge chair. “D’you think lunch could wait just a few minutes?” He doesn’t really wait for an answer, though; he’s already covered your body with his, lips on your neck.</p><p> </p><p>“What, was my clumsiness so enticing?” you ask, grinning. “You like it when girls trip themselves and almost fall to their deaths?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I like seeing you naked in <em> my </em> hot tub, drunk off <em> my </em> wine, swaying on <em> my </em>balcony,” he says, and that shuts you right up. “You know what I thought when I first walked out here and saw you? Giggling, beautiful tits—“ he squeezes one in his hand as if to punctuate his point, and you gasp. “—just barely visible, eyes not quite focused?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, what?” you say, barely hearing your own words.</p><p> </p><p>He looks up. “<em>God, she’s beautiful,</em>” he says, and smirks when you roll your eyes at him. “I thought we talked about rolling your eyes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, Christian Grey,” you say, and he smacks your thigh. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m serious, any more attitude and I’ll be beating your ass black and blue, not eating you out.” His eyes are still dancing with laughter but his tone is firm. You quiet down, nodding. “That’s better.” He scoots down the lounge chair, spreading your legs and throwing one of them over his shoulder. By the time you’ve processed this change in position, he has his mouth on you. He sucks lightly on your clit, teeth barely grazing it, and you shudder involuntarily.</p><p> </p><p>You watch the muscles in his back ripple as he bends deeper, and almost reach out to touch, but remember the rules. “Can I touch you, sir?” you ask, making your voice meek and small.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, baby,” he pulls away briefly to murmur.</p><p> </p><p>You run a hand down his back, tracing lines up and down his spine, plucking his sunglasses off the crown of his head so they don’t get in the way, and holding his hair out of his eyes with your other hand. He hums his thanks around your clit, and the vibration makes you moan. </p><p> </p><p>You’re a horny drunk as it is—an affliction that gets the better of you all the time—but something about the way Johnny was talking about it, how he liked that you were at his place, unsteady in your drunk-ness, how that turned him on... it just makes it worse. You’re so wet and so needy, and he’s barely done anything to you. Maybe it’s that he feels safe, even like this, or maybe it’s just that you like to be incapacitated and completely at the mercy of your partner, but all of it is making your head spin. Or maybe it’s just the pleasure mixing with the alcohol.</p><p> </p><p>You’re glad he has a strong hand braced against your thigh, otherwise you’d be at risk of crushing his skull between your legs. Or maybe you’re just at risk of melting into a puddle of desire right here and now. Your limbs feel heavy, and all you can do is moan, Johnny’s tongue quickly pushing you close to the edge.</p><p> </p><p>You can’t even warn him before you come, shaking your way through it, curled forward and praying you’re not suffocating him. He presses kisses to your clit, your pussy, movements almost lazy while you slowly come down from it, gasping in breaths.</p><p> </p><p>As soon as you can speak again, you push him to his feet. “Okay, now you,” you demand.</p><p> </p><p>He smiles, stepping around your legs. “Put your feet up on the chair and tilt your head back.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir,” you reply, keeping eye contact. You cross one ankle over the other, dropping your head back onto the headrest, and stretching your mouth open. You stick your tongue out and raise your eyebrows a little at him.</p><p> </p><p>“What a good girl.” He presses his thumb into your mouth; you let him bully a few fingers against the back of your throat. “You’re so—pliant, I think is the word I’m looking for. You always get like this when you drink?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not always,” you answer around his fingers. “Depends on who I’m with. With you, probably yes.”</p><p> </p><p>Satisfaction settles across his face. “Maybe we can test that out sometime,” he says, nonchalant, withdrawing his fingers. “Okay, want my cock?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, daddy,” you reply. </p><p> </p><p>He tugs down his shorts, just low enough that you have access, and shuffles forward a few more steps until the head is ghosting against the tip of your tongue. You hold very still, though all you want to do is stretch your tongue out and lick the precome beading at the tip. Gradually, he pushes his cock into your mouth until it’s all you can do not to gag. You hollow your cheeks as best you can, breathing harshly through your nose.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny strokes your jaw with his thumb. “Good girl,” he repeats. “Gonna let me use your poor throat? Gonna let me fuck your face til I come?” You nod, trying to make little <em> mm-hm </em> noises around his cock. He gets the message. “Thank you, baby,” he all but coos, one hand going to grip your hair, tight and close to your scalp. You try to open your jaw a little wider. A tear leaks out of the corner of your eye, followed by another, and another, as Johnny pulls out fluidly and then shoves his cock right back down your throat.</p><p> </p><p>You can’t help it after a minute or two—you’re gagging and your spit is thick and glistening on his cock when he slides it out of your mouth. It’s okay, though; you’re not really at risk of throwing up, You are still crying, though, more just a natural reaction from your body getting abused than anything else. Johnny doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t acknowledge it. He yanks your head forward and you let your torso loll over the seat, closing your eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“God,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “I tell you you’re good, and you’ll just let me do anything, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hm,” you say, too drunk and too preoccupied to argue.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck,” he hisses out, and you moan around his cock. You feel like you’re floating in honey; though Johnny’s thrusts are sharp and fast, they feel slow, the wine numbing you to any pain. You know you’re messy—spit is dripping down your chin and mixing with your tears—but you can’t be bothered with it. Besides, Johnny thinks it’s hot, and that’s all that really matters. </p><p> </p><p>Abruptly, he pulls out, leaving you heaving for breath. He keeps the one hand on your hair, so your face is tilted up towards him. He jacks himself off, groaning when he finally comes. You squeeze your eyes tight—come <em> stings </em>if you get it in your eyes, you know—and moan quietly when you feel it hit your brow bone, your cheek, your tongue.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny cleans you off a bit with his fingers and you swipe at your face a little before looking up at him. He’s tucked himself back into his pants, and he’s flushed but smiling. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” he says, breathless. “<em>Now </em> lunch.”</p><p> </p><p>You laugh, taking his hand and getting to your feet. You sway, but it’s okay, because Johnny catches you.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>After lunch, you both shower and curl up in Johnny’s bed for a much-needed nap. You fall asleep tucked closed to his chest and your nose full of the scent of his cologne.</p><p> </p><p>You wake late to a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey.” You blink your eyes open and see Johnny sitting up beside you. “I’m not trying to kick you out, please take your time. I just figured you’d wanna be getting home.”</p><p> </p><p>You squint at the clock; it’s a little before three. “Yeah,” you whisper back. “I do. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>He smiles and stands, going to raise the blinds. You follow him, grabbing your clothes and pulling them on, adjusting your dress as the shades click in place at the top of the windows. </p><p> </p><p>“Got everything?” he asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I think so,” you reply, retrieving your phone from the bedside table. You’re still a little unsteady, but sobering by the minute, so you’re pretty sure you’re telling the truth. </p><p> </p><p>“Well,” he says as he follows you down the stairs. “If you do happen to leave something behind, you have my number.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” You smile at him as you shrug your coat on, checking your pockets for your wallet and your keys. </p><p> </p><p>You both pull on your shoes and head out into the hall, then back into the fancy elevator. You’re silent as you ride all the way down to the garage. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny opens the passenger side door for you and shuts it once you’re settled. There’s almost a melancholy stillness in the car—the air seems a little tense. You watch your hands in your lap, not sure how to broach the subject. <em> Will we see each other again? </em></p><p> </p><p>Once you get into the city, you direct Johnny towards your building. It might not be wise to give him your address, but then again, he hasn’t done anything to give you pause, so you decide not to worry about it. </p><p> </p><p>A few missed turns later, he pulls up along the curb, and turns his car off. There’s a beat of silence as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride,” you say softly. He nods. You open your door and stick your right leg out, and then turn back to him. “Will I see you again?”</p><p> </p><p>“If you want,” Johnny says with a wide smile. He leans toward you and you take the opportunity to give him a goodbye kiss. “Text me anytime, baby,” he murmurs when you pull away, and you feel your cheeks heat up. </p><p> </p><p>“Will do.” You get out of the car and shut the door, then bend down so you can wave goodbye through the window. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny waves back, putting his car in drive. Right before he pulls away, he makes eye contact with you and gives you that same fucking wink. </p><p> </p><p>You’re still laughing when you get into the lobby.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>at long last... part two! </p><p>tumblr is <a href="https://kjmsupremacist.tumblr.com/about">here</a>! come yell to me ^^ you'll also find my posting schedule pinned at the top of my blog!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It goes on like this for a couple of weeks. Whenever either of you can spare the time, you meet up for a meal or a drink, and, of course, a hookup. You’ve yet to invite him back to yours—and honestly, you can’t help but think it should stay that way, at least for now—and you’ve also yet to meet each other’s friends. But, whatever, right? It’s a fling, so it’s not a big deal.</p><p> </p><p>Secretly, you want to. He mentions his buddies in passing—some names have become familiar to you: Mark, Jaehyun, Ten—and he knows a couple of your friends by name as well (“Sorry, I can’t tonight, I’m seeing a movie with Emily.” “Oh okay, tell her hi for me!”), but that’s about the extent of it.</p><p> </p><p>So you’re not exactly sure what to think when Johnny sends you an ambiguous and slightly ominous text message.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>hey please tell me you’re not busy this weekend</b>
</p><p> </p><p><b>I’m not</b><b><em>, </em> </b> you reply, a little concerned by his tone. <b>Why?</b></p><p> </p><p><b>I’m hosting a party, </b> he replies, and you roll your eyes, relieved. <b>Lots of my friends are coming. Bring yours too, if you can.</b></p><p> </p><p><b>I thought it was an emergency or something</b> <b>lol</b>, you type back. <b>Sounds good tho. When?</b></p><p> </p><p><b>It IS an emergency </b> 🙄 <b> Friday night, at mine. Come around 9.</b></p><p> </p><p><b> What should I wear? </b>you ask.</p><p> </p><p><b>whatever makes you feel sexy, </b> he responds, and you press your lips together. <b>i trust your judgement. </b></p><p> </p><p>You rope in a couple of your friends—Emily and Celine—and Friday evening finds the three of you getting ready at your place.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t wait to meet this guy,” Celine says. “Think he has any hot friends?”</p><p> </p><p>Emily rolls her eyes. “I still don’t trust him,” she says. “He still sounds like a serial killer to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, he hasn’t serial-killed me yet, so I don’t really think he’s planning on it,” you point out, giggling.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m just worried it’s going to be really fancy,” Celine says, rearranging her hair in the mirror. “He’s super rich.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s chill, though,” you say. “Stop worrying. I’m sure it’ll be more like a frat party, just cleaner and probably with better alcohol.” You spin in front of them, showing off the silk, thigh-length, champagne-colored slip dress you’ve picked out. It’s simple; sort of body-con, with a cowl neckline and an asymmetrical hem. You found strappy gold stilettos to match, though you’re grateful Johnny runs an Asian household—an excuse to take them off at the door before they start killing your feet. “You’re both dressed better than me. This is, like, one step up from a nightgown.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you have an excuse,” Emily points out. “You’re staying over.” Celine giggles.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, come on.” You nudge them both. “You guys look great. And if Johnny does have any hot friends—which I have to assume he does—I’m sure they’ll fall all over themselves for you.”</p><p> </p><p>You’re taking the bus so that all of you can drink, which poses a slight problem because Emily’s slow at putting on makeup. You miss the bus that would get you to Johnny’s a few minutes past nine, so now you’re taking the one that arrives at your stop at nine.</p><p> </p><p>“Fashionably late?” Celine suggests helpfully as you finally make your way outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, sure.” Your teeth chatter as the cold hits you and you huddle against her. “Oh my god, Emily,” you add as she strides in front of both of you in her thin, unzipped coat, apparently unaffected by the cold. “How are you not freezing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hoes don’t get cold!” she replies, turning so you can see that she’s sticking her tongue out at you. Celine chuckles while you roll your eyes.</p><p> </p><p>The bus ride is uneventful, but that’s the last bit of peace the three of you get for the night. Celine and Emily gasp over the lobby of Johnny’s building, murmuring to each other when the doorman just nods at you with a welcoming smile. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh my god,” Emily hisses as all of you step into the elevator. “Can I rob him? We can totally rob him, right? Wanna do an Ocean’s, uh, Three?”</p><p> </p><p>You laugh as you press the fob to the sensor on the elevator wall. “I told him I’d rob him if I didn’t already know him personally the first time I came here,” you say. “I don’t think there’s any way for us to do it without him tracing it back to me immediately.”</p><p> </p><p>“A shame,” Celine says neutrally.</p><p> </p><p>You can hear the faint booming of bass as soon as you exit the elevator, even though the doors between the mudroom and Johnny’s main apartment are closed. You all discard your coats and shoes, and then you knock loudly on the double doors in front of you and wait.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny pulls them open, grinning when his eyes land on you. The music floods out into the little space, reverberating in your chest. “Hey,” he says. “Glad you could make it.” He turns his attention to your friends briefly. “I’m Johnny,” he says, offering his hand to shake.</p><p> </p><p>Your friends introduce themselves while you peer past Johnny into his darkened apartment. Over the music, you hear the clamoring of voices. What catches your eye, though, is a table set up just a few feet behind Johnny. You squint. There are a couple of rows of full shot glasses, and a sign behind them that reads “ENTRY FEE: 1 SHOT”. You snort.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yes,” Johnny says, following your gaze. “If you would. House rules.”</p><p> </p><p>He steps aside so you can file in, and the three of you huddle around the table to grab your shots. “What is it?” you ask, not sure if you want to smell it to find out.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s a watermelon vodka,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’s good.”</p><p> </p><p>Emily stretches her shot glass out for you and Celine to clink, and you down them together. Johnny’s right. It <em> is </em>good; it’s smooth and hardly stings. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, with that out of the way,” Johnny says, gesturing you towards the hall, “please, follow me.”</p><p> </p><p>You follow him, and see that he’s turned his dining room and kitchen areas into, just as you assumed, a fancy frat party. Music blares from his speakers, and his friends mill around with drinks in hand, laughing and shouting. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, let me introduce you guys!” Johnny shouts over the music. He reaches out for the shoulder of a medium-height guy who’s talking to a taller guy with gentle, pretty features. “This is Mark!” Johnny says about the shorter one. “And that’s Jungwoo! Guys, this is Y/N. And these are her friends, Emily and Celine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, it’s nice to meet you!” you say, waving.</p><p> </p><p>“Woah, dude, you <em> are </em> tall,” Mark says, sweeping his eyes from you to your friends. “All of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really?” Emily teases drily. “We’ve never noticed. That’s crazy.” Mark stammers while Johnny and Jungwoo laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, c’mon,” Johnny says, leading you away.</p><p> </p><p>“Are we the last to arrive?” you ask him as you round the corner of his dining table.</p><p> </p><p>“No, god, no,” Johnny says, laughing. “Plenty more people are still on their way.” You’re approaching a couple—a guy who looks to be around Johnny’s age, and a woman, who seems a bit older. “Hey Taeyong, Rin. Meet my friends.”</p><p> </p><p>You say your hellos. The rest of the introductions go this way, though if you’re being honest, you can’t really remember any of their names. The music is loud, and it’s dark, and you’re not known for your memory. Still, it doesn’t really matter. You know you’ll have plenty of time tonight to relearn them. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny finally takes you to the kitchen and offers you drinks. “I’ve been away from the door for too long,” he says as he slides some cups to the three of you. “And I have people texting me, I can feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Make yourselves at home, okay?” He leans in and kisses you on the cheek quickly before disappearing into the hall.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Emily says, reaching for the whiskey. “At the very least, he has good taste in alcohol.”</p><p> </p><p>“True,” Celine agrees, holding her cup out for Emily to pour. </p><p> </p><p>You go for the vodka—Grey Goose, which is a luxury to you but bottom shelf to Johnny, so you don’t feel too bad—and pour a healthy amount into your cup before turning to peruse the mixers. </p><p> </p><p>“I kinda liked that first guy we met,” Emily is saying. “Mark. He seemed a little nerdy, but, like, nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re either saying that because he’s the only one you can remember, or because you made him blush,” Celine replies. You aren’t facing them, but you can picture her rolling her eyes, and you smile to yourself.</p><p> </p><p>“Not true, I remember Taeil, too! He was the last one!” Emily protests through giggles.</p><p> </p><p>It’s nice, finally having your friends in this space with you, filling what has up until this point felt like an elaborate daydream with their laughter and their company. It cements this whole fling with Johnny more solidly in your life. </p><p> </p><p>“Shall we try to be sociable, then?” Emily asks when you turn around, swirling your drink in your cup to mix it.</p><p> </p><p>“We shall,” Celine answers for the both of you, and you head back into the dining room.</p><p> </p><p>Understandably, you end up getting separated almost immediately—you see Emily head in Mark’s direction, while Celine wanders over to a few of the guys who are gathered at the window. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Y/N, right?” You turn, and see someone you were <em> definitely </em> introduced to not ten minutes ago smiling at you. You recognize his dimples. <em> Pretty sure he was also a J name, </em> you think, scrambling for the whole thing in your head. He seems to sense your panic, though. “I’m Jaehyun. Don’t worry, no one expects you to remember all of us at once,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“Jaehyun, yes,” you repeat, hoping it’ll help it stick. “How d’you and Johnny know each other?”</p><p> </p><p>“We went to school together,” Jaehyun says. “Most of us did. Actually, Kun’s the only person Johnny met through work.”</p><p> </p><p>“And—Ten, that’s Kun’s boyfriend, right?” you ask. Jaehyun nods. “Did he meet Johnny through Kun?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, actually,” Jaehyun says, laughing. “Ten and Johnny are childhood best friends. Ten met Kun through Johnny.”</p><p> </p><p>You nod, trying not to frown. The number of things you don’t know about Johnny still is a little upsetting. Granted, you’re not in an official relationship. And it’s not like Johnny tries to hide his life from you. But meeting his friends feels like meeting a new side of Johnny that you weren’t aware of. It’s not a bad side, it’s just unfamiliar. </p><p> </p><p>The music quiets a little, and you look up to see Johnny following a few more guests into the dining room. “That’s everyone!” he says cheerfully. </p><p> </p><p>“Beer pong!” One of his friends calls from the other corner of the room. “C’mon!”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s smile is blinding; for a moment, it’s like catching a glimpse of him when he was younger—just another handsome frat boy with a trust fund. Somehow, it’s kind of endearing. You find yourself smiling too as you watch him and a couple friends set up, cups and beer appearing out of nowhere.</p><p> </p><p>“You any good at pong?” Jaehyun asks, drawing your attention away from the commotion.</p><p> </p><p>“Pretty good,” you reply. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“Team up with me,” he requests. “Johnny kinda sucks, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>“I—I’d feel bad to leave him hanging,” you protest.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s more fun to compete against your person than with them, though, right?” Jaehyun points out, and you have to admit he’s right.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll let him know.” You pad over to Johnny, who’s carefully measuring beer out into the Solo cups.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Johnny says. “Lemme guess: Jaehyun’s already told you I’m terrible at pong.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, yes,” you reply. “And as someone who’s great at pong, I’m left with a horrible quandary. Do I do the smart thing, and team up with a guy who could help me win, or do I follow my heart and help <em> you </em> not lose?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny stands up, setting the empty beer bottle aside. “Team up with him,” he says, a genuine smile on his face. “I’ll take one of your friends. And maybe if I beat you, Jaehyun’ll stop telling everyone I can’t play.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ask Celine,” you suggest. “She plays basketball.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you can’t take it back now,” Johnny says, wiggling his eyebrows, “but shouldn’t you, like, not be helping me? Because from here on out, anything goes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, you’re on, Seo,” you agree, standing a little taller as you turn to give Jaehyun a thumbs-up. He smiles, all dimples, giving you a thumbs-up in return.</p><p> </p><p>Jungwoo draws up some brackets, and the first round begins. It’s one of the new arrivals, paired with Taeyong, against Emily and Mark. You see Taeyong’s partner, Rin, sidle up next to the girl that walked in with Taeyong’s teammate, and decide to join them.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Rin says warmly when she sees you approaching. “Simone, this is Y/N, Johnny’s, ah, friend.”</p><p> </p><p>Simone offers you a sweet smile. “I started as, ‘Yuta’s, ah, friend,’ so don’t worry,” she says, mimicking Rin.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry,” Rin says, grinning. “I’m usually a little removed from these gatherings. Taeyong wanted me here today, though, and I can never say no to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Rin is Taeyong’s sugar-mommy-turned-real-girlfriend,” Simone informs you with a sort of conspiratorial look in her eye. Rin splutters out laughter. “But I mean, thank god. Yuta and I have been dating for about a year now, and for the first six months I was the only girl at these parties.”</p><p> </p><p>You hear shouts from the table, and turn back to watch the game. Emily isn’t very good at pong, and it seems Mark is worse. They’re getting absolutely destroyed by Yuta and Taeyong—somehow, <em> they’re </em> both incredible. You watch Yuta line up his shot. He cocks an eyebrow, squinting, his tongue poking at the inside of one of his cheeks, and shoots. It lands squarely in one of Emily and Mark’s cups, and Emily groans, picking it up and draining it while Mark rearranges their remaining cups.</p><p> </p><p>“Poor Emily,” Rin says with a light smile. “She would’ve been better off pairing up with pretty much anybody else in this room. Well,” she adds. “Maybe anyone but me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm, I dunno,” Simone says. “I think anybody could beat Mark.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” you say, suppressing laughter as Emily misses her next shot. “Emily’s not much better, so I think it’s for the best. Consolidate the lack of skill.” You tilt your head. “You guys don’t play?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Simone says, laughing. “I’m pretty bad. But at least I have the decency to admit it. Plus, I can get drunk on my own.”</p><p> </p><p>“And I’m driving us home,” Rin supplies. “So I figured… best not.”</p><p> </p><p>Soon, Taeyong and Yuta have secured a clean win, and you and Jaehyun are up against Johnny and Celine. Rin and Simone wish you luck before turning to shower their boys in congratulations.</p><p> </p><p>“Let’s go,” Jaehyun mutters, offering you a high-five. And so, the game begins.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s not as bad as Jaehyun led you to believe. He makes his first shot, which you drink for. But you make yours, too, and he misses his second one, so you’re not too worried about him. You’re worried about Celine’s impeccable aim instead.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, though you and Jaehyun are not quite as good as Celine, you’re both better than Johnny, and you keep up, even pulling ahead a few times. By the time you’re down to the last few cups, side conversations around the room have trailed off and everyone is watching intently.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny sinks one off a bounce. You miss your next one, and Celine makes hers, and Johnny is crowing, his eyes never leaving yours. It’s just a game of beer pong, but you’re tense, and you watch as Jaehyun saves you both, making his shot easily.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny misses his next one, amid jeering and boos from your spectators. You pick up a ping pong ball and blow on it for luck. </p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, Y/N,” Jaehyun says. “You can do it, let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, c’mon, Y/N!” Emily calls from the sidelines. Celine shoots her a look of pure betrayal, but you hardly notice.</p><p> </p><p>You take a deep breath, aiming carefully, and release the ball. It takes a perfect arc through the air and bounces off of the rim of one of their cups and plops happily into the other. The room releases a breath, and suddenly you’re surrounded by excited screaming, while Johnny and Celine stare, dumbfounded.</p><p> </p><p>“What happens if both Celine and Jaehyun make their next shots?” one of the guys asks.</p><p> </p><p>“We just keep going until someone misses,” Jungwoo replies, dry-erase marker poised, ready to document the winner.</p><p> </p><p>Celine and Jaehyun both make their shots. So do you and Johnny. Again, Celine and Jaehyun make their shots. And finally, finally, Johnny misses. Before the room can descend into chaos, Jungwoo shouts, “Wait, wait! Not yet. Y/N has to make this shot, since she finishes the round. If she makes it, she and Jaehyun get the game. Y/N, go ahead.”</p><p> </p><p>You’re an athlete. You’re also an accomplished adult. You’ve taken standardized tests, had countless interviews, played many games of volleyball. But in this moment, you swear this is the tensest you’ve ever been. You hear ringing in your ears, even though in the back of your head, you know it’s kind of stupid. But you’re competitive to a fault, and you kind of want to put Johnny in his place in front of all his friends. So you breathe in, long and deep, and give yourself a shake. </p><p> </p><p>And you shoot. And you do not miss.</p><p> </p><p>The room erupts into cheers. Celine drops her head into her hands, laughing, while Johnny staggers backwards in a comical performance of his grief. You take Jaehyun’s hand, jumping and laughing, before releasing him to tend to Johnny’s wounded ego.</p><p> </p><p>Luckily, given his easygoing nature, Johnny’s a good sport. He grins, stretching his arms out for a hug when he sees you approaching, eyes light with mirth. “I’ll never live it down,” he laments, “but that’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Admittedly, the night gets a little patchy from there. You watch the next games, and then play and lose against Yuta and Taeyong. You don’t really mind though, because they end up winning the entire tournament, and that means Johnny breaks out champagne—real champagne, not prosecco. He brings a bottle over to you and tilts your head back with a finger. You open your mouth, grinning, and let him pour it in.</p><p> </p><p>You remember pressing yourself up against him, back flush with his chest. Johnny’s big hands are secure on your hips, and you lean into his warmth and watch the rest of the party through half-lidded eyes. Rin is watching in bemusement, shoulder to shoulder with Kun, while Taeyong and Ten all but grind on each other; Yuta has his lips pressed to Simone’s neck, and she’s grinning; across the room, Yukhei, Jungwoo, and Jaehyun are trying to convince Doyoung to take another shot. You even see Emily dancing with Mark, and smile to yourself as you watch her twirl him while they both laugh. Celine is chatting with Sicheng and Taeil; they’re both bent over laughing at something she’s just said. </p><p> </p><p>“Reminds me of college,” you say to Johnny, and he laughs in your ear. “Better—less messy. But still.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, that’s kind of the goal.” He turns you around so that you’re facing him. “Keeps us young, hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not old,” you protest, but you’re laughing. “So you guys have these get-togethers often?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whenever we can spare the time. We’re actually missing a couple of people today,” Johnny says. “Maybe if you come to the next one, you can meet them.”</p><p> </p><p>“If?” you ask.</p><p> </p><p>“If you can make it,” Johnny clarifies, his eyes finding yours. “You’ll be invited.”</p><p> </p><p>“Scared me for a second there,” you mutter, and Johnny apologizes with a kiss. </p><p> </p><p>It starts out chaste, but you both have too much alcohol in your system for anything to stay that way for long. By the time you break away, you’re out of breath and flushed, and Johnny’s eyes are dark. </p><p> </p><p>“Anytime you want, we can go upstairs,” he says quietly. “They all know the way out.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” you say. “I can wait. I don’t wanna make you a bad host.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, they knew this might happen,” Johnny says with a light chuckle. “Besides, I want you to myself for a little while. You look so good, you know. And I’ve never been good at sharing.”</p><p> </p><p>“What, you mean you wouldn’t consider a threesome with one of your oldest friends?” you tease. “God, I never thought you’d be so vanilla.” This has the both of you shaking with laughter for a good minute. </p><p> </p><p>But even though you feel a little bad about the prospect of tearing Johnny away from his party, you <em> do </em> want to escape upstairs. You’re warm from the alcohol and more than ready to collapse on Johnny’s big, beautiful bed and get your brains fucked out. So you catch your friends’ eyes, and kinda wave goodbye. Celine nods, waving back, and Emily mouths <em> HAVE FUN! </em></p><p> </p><p>“Okay, c’mon,” you mumble to Johnny. His white teeth flash in the dark as he smiles, almost predatory.</p><p> </p><p>You stumble a little on your journey up the stairs, but it’s less to do with your drunkenness and more to do with the way Johnny’s trying to kiss you as you walk. He’s got an open bottle of champagne in the hand that isn’t on your waist, and you recognize faintly that if you didn’t know him as well, this would probably be a very poor decision.</p><p> </p><p>But you and Johnny have talked about it, and come to the conclusion that you both really enjoy drunk sex, so you wipe the concerns from your mind. You find yourself giggling as you sit on the edge of Johnny’s bed while Johnny makes sure the door is locked. He takes a swig of champagne and then offers the bottle to you. You tip your head back and open your mouth, and he hums in the back of his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re okay with this, yeah?” he asks softly as he pours the champagne into your mouth.</p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hm,” you agree. “You?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” he replies, setting the bottle carefully on the nightstand. Even Johnny, a notorious heavyweight, is a little unsteady on his feet, but there’s something about it that makes you suck in a sharp breath. It could just be that you like it messy. Or it’s the affirmation that he wants you, no matter what.</p><p> </p><p>If you had worse friends, or if Johnny was a worse person, maybe you would’ve gone into tonight worrying that Emily or Celine would catch his eye, and he’d cast you aside. But you’re happy to have been proven right. Your friends are good people, and Johnny only has eyes for you. </p><p> </p><p><em> Although</em>, you realize as you pull your dress up over your head and then lay back, watching Johnny get undressed, <em> it’s not like he and I are technically exclusive. I’m not seeing anybody else, and I don’t think he is, either, but we never said anything about it. So maybe I’m just jumping the gun a little. </em></p><p> </p><p>But Johnny had said he wasn’t good at sharing. So maybe…</p><p> </p><p>You don’t really get the chance to complete the thought. Johnny climbs onto the bed, and his teeth are on your neck, which means your brain gets to shut off for the time being. You moan, running your hands down his back, admiring the firm planes of muscles underneath your fingertips. Johnny nudges your legs apart with his knees so he can get closer, hands snaking back behind you to undo your bra as he sucks dark purple hickeys into your skin.</p><p> </p><p>“That dress looks really good on you,” he murmurs as he sits back to discard your bra. “Makes your legs look extra long.”</p><p> </p><p>“My legs are already extra long,” you point out, and his laughter rumbles deep in his chest. “But thank you,” you add, giggling. “You looked good tonight, too,” you add. “I like it when you do your hair like this, all slicked back except for a couple of strands in front. You look like a 50s heartthrob. One of those all-American greaser boys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, really? I was going for mafia boss,” he complains, and you snort. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, then you look like a mafia boss,” you concede. “You look hot, that’s all I’m saying.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, baby,” he says, sincere, though his tone is still tinged with amusement.</p><p> </p><p>One of the most marked differences between the beginning and now is that you and Johnny no longer seem to be performing in front of each other. Banter comes easy, just like everything else. Even when he’s in the middle of working your panties off, the both of you otherwise naked, there’s a natural camaraderie that you had kind of started thinking didn’t actually exist. </p><p> </p><p>He sticks two fingers in his own mouth, and presses them against your entrance, pushing in slowly to make sure he doesn’t hurt you. You sigh and gasp, cupping his jaw with one hand, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone. He curls his fingers a little, and grins when you choke out a surprised moan.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it feel good, babygirl?” he asks, and you nod fervently. “Hey.” He smacks your hip lightly. “Use your words.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, sir,” you stammer, and he rewards with a couple of hard thrusts, dipping his head to kiss your stomach. Through your pleasure, you find yourself a little softhearted. He shows how much he likes you and your body so casually sometimes. You know it’s subconscious—he kissed you because he wanted to, not because he wanted to tell you you were beautiful, or something. But you kind of love how he doesn’t hide his attraction to you, how he lets you see and hear and feel how much you turn him on. He might playfully objectify you because he knows you like it, but he never devalues you. Once again, you’re struck by how lucky you are.</p><p> </p><p>He’s added a third finger while you were ruminating, and he’s working them in and out of you with ease. You can feel how wet you are, and your head swims both from the alcohol and from lust. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny pulls his fingers away and licks a flat stripe over your pussy, complete with a kiss to your clit, before sitting back completely. You give him a look of hurt and confusion, and he laughs. “Hang on,” he says, clambering off the bed and making his way to his closet. “I bought a toy last week.”</p><p> </p><p>You watch him, now curious, as he ducks into the closet, reappearing momentarily with a vibrator in hand. You grin. “Oh, very fun,” you say. “Hey, have you ever given any thought to pegging?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs as he rejoins you on the bed. “Maybe,” he says. “Think I’d make a good power bottom, is that it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t know til we try it, right?” you reply, kissing him. “Sorry, just got me thinking. I <em> am </em> excited about this.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good,” Johnny says. “I am too.” </p><p> </p><p>It’s only now, as you wait for him to prep himself, that you remember there’s still a party going on below. If you listen, you can hear the thrum of the music. Faintly, you wonder if you should be concerned about Johnny’s various expensive pieces of furniture, but Johnny remains unbothered, so you shove it from your mind. </p><p> </p><p>You feel Johnny’s thumb against your clit, and you jump a little in surprise. He grins when your eyes find his. “Ready?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, hurry up,” you say, and he swats the back of your thigh a few times in rapid succession. “Sorry, sir,” you add when he’s finished, though you’re not very sorry at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” He knows you’re not, but he doesn’t do anything else, focused instead on lining himself up with your entrance.</p><p> </p><p>You’d think, after all this time, maybe you’d get used to how fucking <em> big </em> Johnny is, but it catches you off-guard every time. Your eyes fly wide open as he pushes in, stretching you and stuffing you full.</p><p> </p><p>Once you’re adjusted, and Johnny’s movements are easy, he reaches back for the vibrator, clicking it on as he presses it against your clit. You gasp reflexively, shuddering a little before settling against the pleasant buzzing. </p><p> </p><p>“Good?” Johnny asks.</p><p> </p><p>“More,” you demand. “Higher.”</p><p> </p><p>He gives you a dubious look, but flicks it up a notch. You moan, half for show, giving him a lazy smile. “Is this my reward for kicking your ass at beer pong?”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny pinches the skin of your inner thigh. “Stop being terrible,” he says, but he’s smiling. “You were showing off for me, don’t rub it in.”</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know?” you ask jokingly. “What if I was showing off for Jaehyun?”</p><p> </p><p>“Then I’d beat your ass black and blue,” Johnny says, his voice lower now. “I told you, I’ve never been good at sharing.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m kidding,” you say sweetly. “He’s too short, anyway.”</p><p> </p><p>Johnny laughs in spite of himself. “And threatening to spank you isn’t much of a threat,” he admits. “You’d probably like it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, you gotta get better at that,” you reply. He pinches again, harder, until you give a little yelp of pain. “I’m sorry, you’re the best dom in the world.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s better,” he says, rolling his eyes as he picks up the pace.</p><p> </p><p>The hum of the vibrator is almost soothing; it’s nice white noise that allows you to get lost in everything you’re feeling. The alcohol already had you dialed to ten, so you know it won’t be long until you come. You know Johnny’ll make sure you come again before the night is over though, so you’re not worried. For now, you drink in his beauty—his perfect body, muscles working under his skin as he moves; his pretty blonde hair, and how a few strands are falling in his face; his sharp cheekbones and perfect lips, now a bit kiss-bitten; the soft noises he makes on each thrust in, low and quiet and <em> so </em>hot. Your desire has gone from a low thrum to an insistent pulsing.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny catches you looking and smiles. “It’s okay,” he says when you give him a faintly embarrassed look. “It’s not like I wasn’t looking at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re just so handsome,” you say, and you’re surprised how heavy your tongue has become in your mouth. “And you fuck so nice.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, only the best for the best, right?” he says. “I’m barely good enough for you as it is.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s ridiculous,” you reply, and he just shrugs. </p><p> </p><p>“Not my fault you’re the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says matter-of-factly, and you hate to admit it, but it gives you butterflies. </p><p> </p><p><em> Can I keep you? </em>you think. It definitely just started as a hookup, but now—well. You don’t know anymore. You’d like to find out if it could be something more.</p><p> </p><p>Your body doesn’t allow you to get distracted for long. The vibrator sends pleasure coursing through your body, and your find yourself begging, “Faster, ‘m close, please—”</p><p> </p><p>“Already?” Johnny acts surprised, but you know he already knows your body well enough that he doesn’t need your warning. He speeds up, just like you requested, running a hand through your hair, settling against the base of your skull. “Go ahead and come, then,” he says. “You know how much I like it when you come on my cock.”</p><p> </p><p>You choke out moans, almost shivering as your orgasm overtakes you. Johnny fucks you through it, holding the vibrator steady over your clit until you settle back against the pillows and your breathing slows.</p><p> </p><p>Though Johnny turns the vibrator back down to a lower setting, he doesn’t move it or turn it off completely. You twist away instinctively, but he follows you, laughing lightly when you whine. “Can we try this?” he asks, and you know this is an opportunity to opt-out.</p><p> </p><p>But as much as it’s uncomfortable, you’ve always wanted to try overstimulation. None of your past partners have ever really seemed into it, and you’re not disciplined enough to do it on your own, so you might as well now. And if you end up hating it, you can just say so, and Johnny will stop. So you nod, through your eyebrows are creased. “Hurts,” you complain, but you stop struggling.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, babygirl,” Johnny murmurs, leaning in to give you a couple soothing kisses. “I’ll make you feel good, promise.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s a little hard to get used to the unrelenting sensations, as nice as they are, when your body is screaming for a break. So you just content yourself to whimpering softly as Johnny starts to move again, hoping it’ll goad him into coddling you.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, he just laughs at you. “You’re cute when you pout,” he says. You frown at him even though you’re a little pleased. “Am I being mean?” he teases, shifting his grip on the vibrator and kicking it up a level in the process.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, <em> fuck </em>, please,” you gasp, curling up a little as searing pleasure wracks your body. “It’s too much—I can’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“Too much?” Johnny asks. “D’you wanna stop?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>,” you hiss out, curling your fingers around his wrist.</p><p> </p><p>“Then stop complaining,” he says sharply, and you stiffen. “Or this will be the least of your worries.”</p><p> </p><p>You nod, trying your best to keep quiet, but it’s not easy—Johnny feels <em> so good </em> inside you, and you can’t help but cry out when he gets the angle just right. “Daddy, I can’t,” you repeat, tears pricking at your eyes. “Please—“</p><p> </p><p>Johnny cuts you off by wrapping a hand around your throat. He gives you a cold, impassive look, not slowing for a second. You squeeze your eyes shut, and a tear slips out, but you don’t move to brush it away. You don’t move at all, don’t try to fight him or squirm out of his grasp. Your head swims a little from the lack of blood flow, and you focus on your breath as any residual discomfort from the vibrator dissipates into pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>“Only well-behaved when I force you to be, is that it?” Johnny asks. “You’ll only be good after you’ve fought me tooth and nail. A slut <em> and </em>a brat, as usual.” You just hum faintly. It’s true. You don’t like doing things you weren’t sort of forced into doing. “Is it really so hard for you to do as you’re told?”</p><p> </p><p>You clench around him, and he lets out a low moan. “Yes,” you force out in belated reply.</p><p> </p><p>Johnny keeps a grip on your throat while he bends down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. It’s overwhelming, but you suppose that’s the point. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and even though all you’re doing is literally lying there, you’ve somehow worked up a sweat. You try to moan, but it comes out high-pitched and quietly. Johnny huffs out breathless laughter against your chest.</p><p> </p><p>“Gonna come again, baby?” he asks.</p><p> </p><p>“Mm-hm.” You reach down feebly for him, and luckily he seems to know what you want. He lets go of your neck so he can support himself, and comes up to give you a kiss. He only needs to give a couple more hard thrusts before you’re coming, Johnny’s tongue in your mouth. You shake and cry, spasming helplessly around his cock. Johnny groans quietly against your lips, switching the vibrator off with unsteady hands and casting it aside somewhere on the mattress.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, you feel good,” he says. “So tight, baby, gonna make me come.”</p><p> </p><p>You use the last of your strength to lift your head so you can press kisses into his neck, murmuring encouragement as you do. He stills in you a few moments later, panting and moaning your name as you run your fingers through his hair.</p><p> </p><p>You’re silent for a moment; you can hear the party winding down. The music has stopped, and you hear snippets of chatter as people are making to leave. You’re pretty sure you hear Rin patiently coaxing Taeyong into putting his coat on amid loud protests, and you press your lips together to hide a smile. And then Johnny leans in and gives you a loud kiss on the cheek, and you both dissolve into giggles. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re gonna have to carry me to the shower,” you inform him. “I can’t feel my legs.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good thing I’m strong, then,” he says. He pulls out, rolling off the bed, grabbing the vibrator as he goes. “So I’m keeping this, yes?” he adds, holding it up.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, yeah,” you agree. “Next time, maybe we can try it on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay to just say you want revenge, you know,” he replies, grinning, and you laugh.</p><p> </p><p>* * *</p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s once again already in the kitchen when you wake up the next morning. You pull a sweatshirt over your head and tentatively descend to the first floor. The carnage from last night isn’t so bad, but it isn’t pretty, either. There are empty bottles everywhere; you carefully pick your way around a sticky spot of dried alcohol on your way down the hall. </p><p> </p><p>Johnny’s cooking happily, like hangovers don’t exist or something, and he smiles when you enter the kitchen. “Hey. Advil’s in that cabinet if you need it. Help yourself to coffee.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” you groan.</p><p> </p><p>He slides a plate across the table to you a few minutes later—a fat omelette and a couple of pieces of plain toast. “It’ll help,” he says when you sigh.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you need help cleaning up?” you ask as you dig in. He’s right; the first bite already has you feeling better.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah,” he says, smiling. “I have a cleaning service.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course you do.”</p><p> </p><p>You’re both quiet for a while, engrossed in your food.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, um,” Johnny says after a long stretch of silence. “Can we—can we have the what-are-we conversation?”</p><p> </p><p>You look up, surprised. “I—sure,” you agree.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t want to introduce you as my friend, or as the girl I’m seeing,” Johnny says quietly. “Last night was nice, but it was a little awkward. I can’t imagine how awkward it must have been for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It was fine,” you say, even though it <em> was </em>a little strange at times. </p><p> </p><p>“Either way,” he continues. “I’d much rather introduce you as my girlfriend. Is that—okay?”</p><p> </p><p>You laugh. “You’re asking if we want to make it official,” you clarify. He nods, looking somewhat apprehensive. “You could’ve just said that. Yeah, Johnny. We can make this official.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good, ‘cuz I really like you,” he says, brushing off your little jab. He stands, gathering your cups and plates, pausing to kiss your hair. “Do you have anywhere to be this weekend?” he asks as he goes to put your dishes in the sink to soak.</p><p> </p><p>“I do not,” you reply, smiling as you turn to face him. </p><p> </p><p>He strolls back over to you, reaching out to cup your jaw when he’s close enough. He pulls you in for a sweet kiss and you close your eyes, smiling against his lips. “Good,” he says softly. “Stay, then.”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s nothing I want more,” you agree, sealing it with another kiss.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
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